


Death Wish: Life and Death

by Birdie (Robin_Mask)



Series: Death Wish [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Identity Issues, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Hatred, Sexual Identity, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 94,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Birdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter knew that his life as Spider-Man was a risk. He put the lives of his friends in danger, simply by acting as the hero of the city. The only real lifeline he had was Wade, but his feelings for Wade were changing . . . growing . . . he was losing his identity as 'Peter'. He would need to learn who the man was beneath the mask. </p><p>He would need to choose right or risk losing everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Życie i śmierć](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277348) by [Anthonys_Madhouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthonys_Madhouse/pseuds/Anthonys_Madhouse)



> This is an alternate universe piece. 
> 
> Tony and Pepper are Peter's adoptive parents. 
> 
> I've incorporated various aspects of the comics, cartoons and cinematic universe.
> 
> * * * 
> 
> The prologue will be from Deadpool's perspective.
> 
> The story itself is from Peter's perspective.

# Prologue

 

“Just shut up!”

 

He couldn’t stand it. The voices just wouldn’t leave him alone; it didn’t matter whether he laid his head down to sleep, or whether he sat up to sharpen his blades, it all came down to those stupid voices echoing about his head. They would talk to him over and over and over until the only word he could remember was ‘over’, then they would carry on some more! It was like a mantra. It was like a chant. They _wanted_ to push him into madness. They wanted him to suffer.

 

There was a deep pain across his knuckles, so sharp and sweet that it seemed to jolt him back to reality, but which reality was a mystery. It grounded him, but he – at the same time – didn’t _want_ to be grounded! He wanted to forget his pain, not replace it with another kind or distract himself with a different sort. Why couldn’t he forget? They wouldn’t _let_ him forget! He had told the little yellow box that he wasn’t bad, but just drawn that way . . . the little yellow box had told him that he _would_ say that, because the person that wrote him _wanted_ him to say that. Nothing he did mattered. He could kill the whole universe and it wouldn’t matter!

 

_Your hand is bleeding. You better wrap that up!_

We have the healing factor, don’t we?

 

“Shut up. Shut up! _Shut up_!”

 

How many years worth of bad luck would he get for smashing a mirror? Seven? Seven sounded about right, although it wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing made a difference. There was blood on the floor and on the sink and the mirror was shattered across the floor . . . _ugly_ . . . it looked so much worse . . . not just one deformed face staring at himself, but dozens. No one wanted to look at Wade. He looked down at himself and felt sick . . . he couldn’t remember ever having looked any different. Wade felt numb. They wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop!

 

_Maybe being alive is punishment. It would explain it._

There is no redemption in death.

“We can’t redeem this.”

 

_True, I suppose._

Why was it hard to breathe? It was like a vice. He couldn’t remember his chest having ever felt so heavy, but the bloody _Hulk_ may as well have been sitting on his chest! The sweating was the worst too, not to mention how he felt dizzy and cold and – hot? How could he be both hot and cold? Huh, he was insane, after all . . . no wonder no one wanted him, but he didn’t want them either! It was far easier to laugh at pain than to feel it! It was easier to run than to endure it!

 

_Who’s laughing now? Can’t run from yourself!_

I thought _I_ was the voice of reason?

 

No. No, no, no! He was the man that could wipe out an entire squadron without help, just as he was the man that could go head-to-head with the best, and he had survived torture and kidnappings and attempted murders! Damn, to be your own worst enemy was such a cliché! He was better than that! He was the fourth-wall breaking, lampshade hanging, all-purpose anti-hero! Why didn’t other heroes ever feel this way? It couldn’t be all that chick-flick talking crap they did . . . could it?

 

Wade let out a low growl. He wasn’t like them . . . he wasn’t going to let out his feelings to a stranger . . . he wasn’t going to have them mock him and judge him and – and -! He was fine anyway! Yes. He just had to shut the voices up . . . make them stop . . . the pain too . . . it would have to stop soon! He marched his way to the bedroom. The anger was welling up, because anger was all he could feel when the depression became too much. No one else had made him feel this way. He was the one weak enough to succumb to these feelings! He was the one that couldn’t cope! He was stronger than this. He was better than this!

 

 _He’s going to do it!_ _如何して？_

 

Inútil. Abominación. Feo.

 

“Shut up.”

 

The gun was cold in his hands. He was glad that he always held his guns on his person, but they would do no good. They never did any good. The healing-factor kept him alive when nothing else should, even as he raised the gun to the usual place beneath his chin, and the cold metal felt a comfort . . . it should kill him, but it wouldn’t. It never killed him. The cold press was a blessing; it was a small taste of death in place of the main course . . . better than nothing.

 

It wouldn’t work, but he had to try.

 

He had to try.

 

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

“Yo, Cap’!”

 

Wade gave a large wave.

 

It was difficult not to give a bright smile at the sight of the other man, not least because it wasn’t _every_ day that he was able to meet his hero. Okay, maybe every other day, maybe every other month at the most, but not every _day_. This was a cause for a celebration! Everyone loved Captain America; even in the universes in which he was just a fictional glob of ink, everyone loved him, and Wade couldn’t help but count his blessings that in this universe – _his_ universe – this man was real.

 

He bounced on the heels and felt his heart race. It took a lot to get his blood pumping, but this was definitely one of those things! Captain America looked so cool in his uniform and standing there all brave and strong; he even looked at Wade – _he looked right at him_ – and what a bigger honour could there be than that? Wade clenched his fists before him and let out a low groan of frustration, desperate for the other man to just pay him _some_ attention, because Captain America was exactly the kind of man that everyone wanted to be like, and if he would just _acknowledge_ Wade then it would clearly mean there was something good in Wade, something redeemable!

 

“Hey! I have my autograph book ready!”

 

_Bah, this is taking too long!_

Maybe he’s busy?

 

There was no way that he was busy! The battle was all over, at least as far as Wade could see. The bad guy was being carted off by some superhero or other that he couldn’t quite remember the name of, whilst the smoke and sirens had started to die down, and the crowd was already beginning to get smaller as the journalists started to go on their way and the heroes went home. It was the perfect chance to talk to him! If only he would just walk over to Wade in turn!

 

Wade let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a cough; it was the sort of irritated noise he often heard on teenagers, but his was definitely a more masculine and manly version! That was right! Wade was too awesome to sound immature, even if he was immature, which he wasn’t, but even if he were then he wouldn’t _sound_ it, and where was his autograph book again? Yes! There it was! He fished around in the pouch on his hip, before he pulled out the book and looked triumphantly at it. There was even a crayon too, which was in a bright blue colour that was kind of like the American flag, so it would be perfect for the symbol of America to use! He gave a jump in victory and then thrust the book high in the air. He found it!

 

It looked like Captain America was talking to a small group of people, so that he was just on the other side of the police line, and Wade was only on the other side of the street. He had half-hidden himself in an alleyway, where he watched the scene with an avid interest, but he had shouted loud enough so that his hero had heard him and turned to look at him. The excitement was too much! Captain America wouldn’t mind if he came up to him, would he? Of course not! Wade gave another jump of excitement and ran straight across the road. He stopped right before the captain.

 

“Come on,” begged Wade. “I totally helped you catch that guy! You know that first explosion? All me! Okay, so the second one was an accident and the third maimed six hostages, but you wouldn’t have had the distraction to enter in the first place without that first explosion, right? I also had your back! I didn’t kill anyone and I had the chance! I did! I was good and everything! Will you sign?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied distractedly. “Wade, is it? Deadpool? I’m afraid that this will have to wait a while. Our first priority is to make sure that no one is left inside, after that we need to make sure that the hostages are all okay. You will have to excuse me.”

 

“Sure! It’d only take two seconds though! You get to say you signed the awesome –”

 

“ _I’ll be right there_! I really am sorry, Wade!”

 

“Oh, right, sure! Okay!”

 

Wade gave a wave as Captain America ran towards a policeman. It was difficult to keep the smile on his face; the truth was that he couldn’t help but feel somewhat rejected, especially when this seemed to happen time and time again. Okay, so those people needed help, but the disaster was over! It would have taken only five seconds to sign the book. Those happy feelings were always so hard to come by, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong or offended the American hero in some way, and suddenly his excitement turned into mortification. He hated that feeling. He hated feeling humiliated and abandoned.

 

_There’s no way he would have signed it anyway, duh._

We shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves. 

 

 _Hard on_ yourself, _maybe!_

You’re me, too.

 

The book in his hands suddenly felt rather heavy. It was a reminder that he would never really be one of the heroes, but then again . . . good riddance! He didn’t want to be a part of their team anyway, what with all the rules and restrictions, and the money was awful and he was never allowed to kill anyone either, so it wasn’t as if they had actually rejected him! You had to actually _want_ to be accepted to feel rejected. He didn’t want any part of them anyway . . . no, sirree!

 

He laughed aloud, and then shoved the book back into his pouch. It was weird to sometimes laugh and not really know why he was laughing, but he didn’t want to sit and psychoanalyse himself like some boring old agent, because where was the fun in that? He might have laughed so no one else knew he felt hurt, or just so he wouldn’t feel alone amidst the possible laughter of others, but then the whole situation was pretty funny when he thought about it. Why let such a small thing spoil his mood? There were even explosions! He did that! Wade scratched at his neck and wondered how long it would take to get the ringing in his ears to stop.

 

It was a few minutes later that he realised no one would be coming back. He had counted the cracks in the pavement, just as he had sang two whole tracks of his favourite album to himself, and – once he found himself wondering if _The Golden Girls_ marathon was still on – he realised that it was probably time he went on his way back to his apartment. No going back to the house today! The apartment was way cooler and closer! He would probably have to feed his dog too.

 

You’re trying to distract yourself. You’re just sad he didn’t sign.

_Nah, no one would want to sign my book anyway._

“Hey, I don’t mind signing.”

 

Wade stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t realised his first-person narrative had been faulty again, but then it seemed to be broken quite a lot lately. Actually, now he thought about it, where on Earth was he? He seemed to have walked right past his apartment block, which was frustrating when he hadn’t been that deep in thought at all, but suddenly he was on a small and quiet street with Spider-Man standing right before him. It looked like he had just swung down.

 

Huh, wasn’t he hot in that suit? Wade was hot in his. The other man _had_ to be boiling just slightly, but then Wade was only warm because of the earlier explosion and flames, so maybe it wasn’t that hot a day after all? He looked to Spider-Man – who leaned like a total bad-ass against the wall of a building – and wondered if he would look that cool if he crossed his arms like that too, but when he tried to copy Spider-Man the other man moved his arms to his side. Wade frowned and moved his arms to his side in turn. Spider-Man hen put them on his hips. Wade put his hands on his hips, too. Hey, this was fun! He was sure Spider-Man was getting annoyed, but now there was something of a dance going on and it was fun! Spider-Man eventually stopped with a sigh.

 

“Are you copying me?” Spider-Man asked.

 

“Hey, you started it!” Wade countered. “I also never knew you were so flexible! I bet you must be really popular with the ladies, especially with the webs and all! Bondage all the way, baby! Still, you’re not quite my type. Now Death -! She’s way my type!”

 

“You don’t change, do you? At least when I talk, people listen. Look, I just came to say ‘well done’. I’m sure Captain America would have said the same, if he hadn’t been so busy, but I guess it felt wrong to let it go unsaid in the meantime: you did a good job. Thank you, Deadpool. You helped us a lot. Thanks to you, those people will get to go home to their families. I don’t mind giving you my autograph.”

 

“Nah, I’m good! You can buy me some tacos instead, if you’re _that_ grateful! Hey, ever think how weird is it that ‘autograph’ and ‘signature’ are two words, but really the same thing? How much does your autograph go for on Ebay these days? If it’s like a hundred bucks apiece, then sign me up for ten! Go, you!”

 

“W-what? I don’t know! I don’t keep track of that!”

 

“You should! You could earn a fortune!”

 

Spider-Man slumped just slightly, whilst he scratched the back of his neck in a way that seemed oddly familiar, and then he gave a look to Wade that he couldn’t quite decipher. It was difficult at the best of times to read people, but when a mask covered their face then that task became virtually impossible. That was why Wade loved his mask. _His_ mask. He was afraid that Spider-Man was mocking him, or – worse – _pitying_ him. Wade didn’t know why he would be pitied, but he was smart enough to know when it was happening, and he didn’t like it in the least.

 

“You plan on hanging around?” Wade asked.

 

“Huh? I just finished my patrol and the party’s over –”

 

“Ha! ‘Hanging around’, get it? Does anyone ever tell you that? I bet the damsel in distress is always ‘stuck on you’, unless they get caught in a web of deception! I ought to be nice though, right . . . said the spider to the fly! Oh, I kill me! Or un-alive me. I love that phrase . . . ‘un-alive’ . . . I bet there is a me out there that says it all the time! I hate writers, but they do know what’s catchy!”

 

“Are you _trying_ to kill me with puns? Jeez, last time I heard anyone mention your name, you had supposedly tried to blow your brains out because you were _bored_ of all things, but now you’re bouncing around like a hyperactive toddler. Wait – writers? What writers? Hey, are you even _listening_ to me?”

 

“Nope! Sorry, Yellow was reminding me of Spideypool!”

 

“Wait . . . Spidey-what?”

 

Wade laughed and threw an arm over his friend’s shoulders. He wondered whether it could be called a friendship when they had never seen one another’s faces, let alone the fact he didn’t even know Spider-Man’s real name, and – come to think of it – they had yet to really socialise outside of chance encounters or random missions. Still, there weren’t many people that acknowledged Wade, whilst those that did often spoke down to him or treated him as a fool. He didn’t mind . . . hell; he actively encouraged it at times, because it served him well, but sometimes a change was nice. Spider-Man made him feel almost sane in an insane world and _damn_ was the world insane!

 

They walked for a short while down the street, whilst Wade began to ponder exactly how old Spider-Man was beneath the costume. He felt and looked fully-grown, but he was so oblivious to the finer points of life and so pissy for a grown up! Not that it meant much, because Logan was also pissy as hell, but it was a different kind of pissy . . . pissy . . . that was a funny word! Wade laughed aloud, but he tried to stop when Spider-Man seemed to give him a hard stare. It made him laugh more.

 

“Obviously we don’t frequent the same websites!”

 

“Obviously not,” Spider-Man muttered. “Is this an _actual_ thing or just something the yellow box told you about? I sometimes wonder if you’re not the fool Logan thinks you are, but then you’ll do something incredibly sane and . . . well . . .”

 

“Ha! This is why you’re my best friend! Well, I suppose Cable counts as my best friend, but he’s not here and you are! I may act the fool, but people always think I believe my own act! I mean, sure, sometimes you start to believe it, but who wouldn’t? When the world tells you that you’re a circle, even if you can see you’re a square, then you start to wonder if you really are a circle! Square was a bad example though. Seriously, who says ‘square’ anymore? Squares, that’s who!

 

“So yeah, where was I? I may be all kinds of crazy, but I’m not _totally_ crazy! I’m also not stupid and I do _not_ believe my own shit! Well, unless I’m not actually shitting anyone, then what I’m saying it true, but people won’t believe it anyway. That’s so much fun! You can say whatever you want when you’re crazy, because no one believes the crazy guy! Hey, you’re pretty quiet today!”

 

“Gee, I wonder why that could be?”

 

“You tell me, baby boy!”

 

_It’s still here!_

The _chimichanga_ stand was exactly where it had been the day before yesterday! Wade had found it solely by chance, simply because he had taken to wandering around at night when he was both bored and unable to sleep, but a part of him had wondered if he had just imagined it and forgot that it was even there. He was glad to know that his sleepless self hadn’t dreamed it! Damn, maybe this was why he had walked by his home? The temptation had been too great and pulled him to paradise!

 

He let go of Spider-Man to wander across and ordered two of the very best, even as he wondered how the two of them would eat without removing their masks, but then again everything tasted just fine reheated! It would keep until later! He paid the lady – _what was her name? Sam? Shiela? Sarah?_ Are you sure it started with an ‘S’? – and then handed Spider-Man a plastic bag with the best meal ever inside, all wrapped up nicely in its plastic container with tin-foil. It was hard for a man in a mask to seem confused, but somehow Spider-Man managed it, and it was hard for Wade not to grin in amusement at having – for once – been the man in the know.

 

They stood still in silence for a while, but silence was so boring! Then again, long speeches weren’t much better either, but at least they weren’t all awkward and left him wondering what to say or do or whether he could just walk away . . . he didn’t want to hurt himself on a busy street, just in case a child saw, but this was so _awkward_! He wondered if he could convince Spider-Man to use his webs to get them someplace high, so that they could eat in peace and somewhere quiet. Wait, wasn’t the quiet the problem? It wasn’t like New York to be quiet! Maybe it would help?

 

“This is _so_ the best way to get _ahead_!” Wade said. “Ha, I kill me!”

 

“Did the yellow box talk again?”

 

Wade blinked a few times. It was hard to clear his head, but then his head always felt kind of groggy and full and busy. There were times when it was clear, so that he felt almost normal, but even then there was a constant murmuring in the background as if something wild was trying to break through. It was hard to tell if the box _had_ spoken to him. There were a lot of times the voices spoke and he ignored them, or they spoke and their voices became confused with his own inner voice, so he hardly knew who spoke and who didn’t. Wade instead flapped his hand to dismiss the question.

 

“I wish I could give you a _head’s up_ ,” Wade mumbled.

 

“I really can’t see the boxes at all, Wade.”

 

“You won’t see the _red_ then, either.”

_There had been a lot of red . . ._

_It had been confusing at first . . . the world seemed to move and wouldn’t stand still, whilst a wave of nausea passed through him . . . he saw red specks behind his eyes, unable to shake off the stabbing pain in his head, then slowly his vision and balance came back . . . he had looked up to see daylight . . . it had been red . . . there was blood on the walls and on the curtains, a spray unlike any other . . . it would have been pretty had it not been horrific . . . it was so detailed and intricate . . ._

_He wanted to see more . . ._

 

_He wanted death._

 

“Oh well, it’s all over now, anyway!”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Spider-Man. “Listen, I really ought to get going. Thanks for the food, although I’m not sure it was worth it to hear you singing ‘the chimichanga song’ whilst ordering. Very creative, by the way.”

 

Wade wasn’t sure whether he was being mocked or applauded. He would have stormed off or injured any other person, just in case it was the former, but he couldn’t risk isolating his friend in such a way. Spider-Man looked up to him, after all! There was no way that he was going to hurt the other man, unless he started a fight or got in the way of a hit, but even then he would only _partially_ kill him, not outright kill! He decided it was best to just laugh it off. That way he wouldn’t look a fool! He could pretend the insult didn’t hurt, or just as much that the compliment meant nothing.

  
He let out a loud laugh and looked down at the bag in his hand, which smelled so delicious that he worried that he wouldn’t be able to make it home without a bite! It was probably better this way, right? If Spider-Man left, it meant that Wade wouldn’t have to worry about showing his face and putting the other man off eating, and he also wouldn’t have to listen to the other man eat. He hated hearing people eat!

 

They stood for a long moment simply looking at one another. Wade wondered if Spider-Man was waiting for him to say something, but it was difficult to know what to say when the other man had seemingly left his sentiment hanging. It was hard to know if he were supposed to say goodbye or ask him to stay or even begin a rendition of the Chimichanga Song again! Wade began to hum the tune to himself, but Spider-Man had begun to lean forward and waved a hand in front of his face, almost as if Wade couldn’t see him! It was so offensive! He would have bit that hand, were it not for the mask in the way and that he didn’t want to taste Spidey all day.

 

“Ah, so you’re going then?”

 

“Afraid so,” said Spider-Man. “I might patrol later, if you’re still around?”

 

“Nah, no way! I have _much_ better things to do than to hang around waiting for you! Ha, that never gets old! _Hang around_! Not to mention, I got things to do! There’s something I meant to do yesterday, but – joy of joys – I totally screwed up! I know, I know, you’re wondering how your hero can screw up right? It makes you so ashamed to wear a copy of my costume! I’ll get it right though, I promise!”

 

“I’m not even going to ask. Good luck though, Deadpool.”

 

“Please, like I need luck!”

 

Spider-Man gave a subtle shake of his head, before he then raised his hand as if to reach out and take a hold of Wade’s shoulder, but then stopped. It was perhaps for the best, for – like his privacy – the older man valued his personal space, and lately his shoulder had been the cause of some pain as his cancer progressed. The healing factor had apparently decided to focus more on the head wound than the disease rampant in his body. He barely noticed as Spider-Man used his webs to get away.

  
There was a sudden silence and everything felt empty. Wade smiled to himself and thought about how the chimichanga would taste, how he could make pancakes for dessert, and even how he could play the new game he had ‘borrowed’ during the day’s events. He didn’t need anyone else to have fun! Still, it would be such a pain to wash the blood off the walls, plus it would probably smell and need to be aired out, and even the sheets were all funky and icky, but they would cost money to replace. He had known that he would fail, he always did, but he forgot about the clean up! It left him tempted to try again just so he wouldn’t have to clean up!

 

“Well, there’s also the next issue! New arc and a new chance!”

 

_Better luck next time, right? You’ll get it!_

 

Maybe you should turn the page.

 

“Ugh! Just shut up!”


	2. Prologue

# Part One: Chapter One

****

“Welcome home.”

 

The elevator doors opened to reveal Tony. He stood in such a way that – even if his tone hadn’t betrayed him – it was clear he was less than impressed, perhaps even outright furious by this breaking of rules. It was a little intimidating how he folded his arms across his chest; he had purposely put them high enough to show he meant business, but low enough that the glow of the reactor could be seen through his short-sleeved shirt. There he stood as both Peter’s father and as Iron Man.

 

Peter flushed red with embarrassment at having been caught sneaking back inside, especially as the _one_ rule that Tony ever insisted on was that Peter _not_ leave Stark Tower during emergencies or attacks on the city. He carefully slid his hand down the strap of his bag, before he then rested it casually on the zipper, but he was fairly certain that his costume was hidden out of sight and no visible sign of Spiderman was on show. It was easy enough to distract Tony briefly, as he made a show of trying to look _behind_ the grown man for Pepper, and – as Tony turned around – Peter looked down quickly to reassure himself that the costume _was_ out of sight.

 

“Do you feel like telling me where you were?”

 

“No, not really,” Peter said with a smile. “I have homework to –”

 

“Let me rephrase that: you will tell me _exactly_ why you felt a need to leave without permission, else I’ll have J.A.R.V.I.S. password protect every single door, so that _any_ time you leave a room you’ll need _my_ permission first. Got it?”

 

It was difficult to think of an excuse, especially when he held a _chimichanga_ bag in his right hand and his overnight bag on his left shoulder, but the idea of having his entry and exit monitored was too much to bear. Peter knew it wasn’t as if the city depended upon him, but he had a gift and he didn’t want to waste that gift. There hadn’t been a day in the past few months that he hadn’t felt the intense guilt towards Ben’s death, or the constant itch of frustration that any time he wasn’t patrolling that it meant a person was at risk, and so he would need to think a way out of this.

 

“I just thought I’d –”

 

“No! No excuses,” snapped Tony. “Last month I woke up to self-replicating trackers in my private laboratory, all because you ‘wanted to work on improving our technology’. Last week I came home to find the Mark 42 conveniently ‘borrowed’, because you ‘wanted to send it to find a rare breed of spider’. I can deal with your science experiments, but I _can’t_ deal with this! Do you know how worried we were?”

 

“Look, Dad,” replied Peter. “It’s nothing, I swear! I just wanted to hang out for a while, so I swung by a few places and snapped a few shots for the Bugle. I met a friend on the way back and he bought me some food to take home – _that’s all_! I _didn’t_ get hurt and I _didn’t_ cause trouble! I’m fine!”

 

“Really? Fine? Well, _clearly_ you’re not fine, or at least you won’t be when -”

 

_‘Peter! Oh, thank God!’_

 

Tony stepped to one side. It was a very reluctant action, because he clearly wanted to spend some more time yelling at his cornered son, but he relented when he heard the all too familiar voice. Peter had to fight not to roll his eyes; seriously, it was sometimes like a case of ‘good cop’ and ‘bad cop’ with his two parents, and – ever since he had moved in around the age of nine – it had been the source of most frustration at home. The two seemed to disagree on every parenting decision.

 

It was clear that Pepper had been just as worried as Tony, for he could see it in her eyes as she stood at the end of the hall and looked at him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so pale, let alone for her blonde hair to be loose and messy about her shoulders and her blue eyes to look so bloodshot, and she looked so frail in her oversized shirt and shorts. Pepper wasn’t weak; Peter knew that better than he knew his own name, but that she would forget absolutely everything other than her son – forgoing all meetings and ignoring her appearance – made it clear that she _felt_ vulnerable and helpless, and he had made her feel that way. He felt awful.

 

She ran down the corridor almost silently, as her bare feet bounded towards him, and then swept him up in a large embrace. Peter felt her head against his shoulder, which just reminded him of how short he was and how he hoped to grow at some point before he turned eighteen, but then he felt ashamed that he could think of something so trivial when she was so worried about him. He enjoyed her embrace. Pepper felt warm and soft and reminded him of his birth mother.

 

“Where were you?” Pepper snapped.

 

Peter winced as she gave a small, yet painless, slap to his cheek. It was obvious that she was angry, because usually any taps or pokes or slaps came from Tony. He raised a hand to his face in shock – not believing she could do such a thing, even if there were no bruises or pain – and touched his cheek gingerly. The only problem he faced was that he had never learned to lie to Pepper; he turned to her whenever he didn’t wish to inconvenience Aunt May, just as he always sat with her and learned about how the company was run and where the budgets were allocated. Pepper gave him a solid education and also a solid emotional support. Lying was out of the question.

 

“I just went out for a little while.”

 

“Your father _told_ you not to go out,” Pepper said firmly. “You knew that there was trouble on the streets, but you chose to go out anyway. I went to your room to see what you wanted for dinner and found you gone, Peter. _Gone_! What was I to think?”

 

“It was just for a few minutes, I swear! Look, I was _trying_ to do my homework, but do you know how hard it is when you guys ban me from the laboratory and take away my tech? Okay, so I make _a few_ small mistakes, but the best way to learn is through trial and error! I just thought that, if I got a _really_ good picture of the explosion, the Bugle would pay me triple and I could buy my _own_ tech. No harm, no foul!”

 

“Uh-huh, and the takeaway food?”

 

“From a friend!”

 

He half-hoped that he wouldn’t be made to give it up. Sure, it was lovely when Pepper cooked, because it made a change from Tony’s weird food combinations and burnt scraps, but he actually had quite the craving for some Mexican food. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a takeaway, and even when he stayed at Aunt May’s she often refused to let him order any. _That’s too unhealthy for a growing boy._ It was like he was still a small boy, not the fifteen-year-old he was, and soon he would be sixteen too, but so far he was still little Peter that needed protecting.

 

“I’m pretty sure Harry has his personal chef,” said Pepper. “Not to mention that Mary-Jane and Gwen would never put such grease into their bodies. I can nearly see through the bag and paper, Peter! Who bought you that?”

 

“Like I said,” he repeated. “I do have more than just _three_ friends. I walked back from the crime-scene and then bumped into a friend of mine. We met a few months ago on a – er – project . . . he was around the crime-scene when things took place, but seemed pretty down when Captain America ignored him. I just wanted to cheer him up, you know? I was only with him a few minutes. He bought me a _chimichanga_.”

 

“That’s very noble, Peter. I mean that honestly, I really do. It doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t have been out of the tower to begin with! _No jokes either_! I can your head going round and round, almost as if you’re thinking of a pun about ivory towers and Stark Tower. _We were so worried_!”

 

“I know. I’m so sorry, Mom! I just had to get out and –”

 

“Your camera, Peter,” said Tony.

 

Peter looked down to his camera. It was only a hobby for him, that was true, and it wasn’t as if he hoped to make it his career in the same way that Mary Jane did, but he _did_ need those photos in order to earn some extra cash. There was no way to just ask for the money he needed without raising questions, and without the money there was no way to create the technology he needed to act as Spider-Man – hell, costume repairs alone seemed to cost a small fortune!

 

He held the camera in his hands and felt at the leather straps, which he had taken from his uncle’s old camera to wear proudly on his new, just as he let his fingers trace over the new lens that had been a gift from MJ. It held a lot of sentimental value, so he had made sure to stash his bag extra securely on his latest excursion. The idea of losing it was rather unbearable. Still, whatever he felt about losing his camera was only a _hundredth_ of what his parents probably felt about losing him, so it was a rather clever punishment on Tony’s part . . . as well as the inevitable grounding.

 

“My camera?”

 

“Yes, your camera,” said Tony. “It’s staying in my laboratory with me. You don’t need the extra cash; you have your own credit card, Peter, you know you can buy whatever you want whenever you want. Well, just so long as it’s nothing too extravagant. I mean, I don’t mind reading that you bought a new telescope or microscope, but it makes the bank statement _so_ boring to read!”

 

“What your father means is,” interrupted Pepper, “that there is no need for you to be working freelance at your age and with your background. You’re fifteen, Peter. You need to enjoy yourself, but trust _us_ to keep you safe. That means you have to listen to our rules and be punished when you ignore them. I’m disappointed in you.”

 

“Well, maybe if you didn’t read my every purchase, I wouldn’t need my own cash.”

 

“Interesting,” Tony replied. “What are you buying that’s so private?”

 

“Why would you even need to know?”

 

“Peter, _please_.”

 

Pepper raised a hand to her temple. It was always remarkable how calm she could be, even in the most tense of circumstances, and he could not remember a single moment where she had ever raised her voice or swore in the slightest. Pepper was everything that Peter tried to be, along with Aunt May of course, but that only made her disappointment harder to bear. It took a lot to upset Pepper, and as such he knew that he had really screwed up. He looked down with a sigh.

 

“Let’s take this into the living room,” she said.

 

There was a brief look shared between his two parents, almost as if Pepper was daring her partner to say something, but Tony only gave an open-mouthed protest and raised his hands as if to say ‘what’ in return. Peter merely sighed, then slid the camera off from his neck as the two adults continued their staring match. He handed it to Tony, who accepted it with a mild expression of shock, as if he had already forgotten that he had decided to confiscate the item. Peter tried to stay quiet and walked away.

 

The living-room was not too far away and had been redesigned to look as the original room had done before the attack on Stark Tower, although – now Tony had moved them down several floors, gifting the top floor to Thor – it meant the space was slightly smaller than it had been. It didn’t make a difference to Peter, because he was used to far smaller rooms whenever he stayed at his Aunt May’s, and he honestly preferred smaller spaces. The larger room rooms had always felt an unnecessary waste of space to him, as well as making it more difficult and time-consuming to get anywhere, but it’s what Tony liked. It was almost like a status symbol.

 

Peter sat cross-legged by the panoramic windows. He had been working there earlier in the day on an essay for class; he felt comfortable in a sea of books, cushions and his personal laptop. Pepper came in not long after, where she sat not far from him with her legs folded before her, and Tony then came and took a bar-stool from the bar and dragged it over gracelessly to where mother and son sat. He spun it around and sat on it backwards, which reminded Peter a little of his friends and the X-Men in particular. It was something he could picture Logan doing.

 

“You know why you’re being punished?”

 

Pepper asked this with such gentleness that it sounded as if she were reluctant to punish him at all, which only made the guilt all that worse. He wanted to argue that – as Spider-Man – he had saved two people from the rubble, as well as averted what would have been a fatal car-crash, and helped one Deadpool refrain from doing anything overly stupid after being rejected by his hero. The problem was that he couldn’t tell them any of this. What good would Spider-Man be if said Spider-Man was grounded indefinitely for his own ‘safety’?

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you told me to stay here. I know you didn’t want me to go outside and risk getting involved, but . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I broke the rules and I don’t really have an excuse.”

 

“So why did you go out? Peter . . . when you came to live with us, we hadn’t really thought of it as a long-term solution at first . . . your parents had just passed away, whilst your aunt and uncle were struggling financially, and we just wanted to help in the only way that we could. We didn’t think that you would be here for more than a few weeks, or that we would come to love you so much, but we do, Peter. We love you! You’re our son and the very thought of losing you is more than I can bear.

 

“I’m not asking anything of you that is more than you can give. I just want you to be safe, but to be safe means not purposely putting yourself in any danger. You knew that there were several explosions in town, just as you knew that the streets were blocked and communications were down, and yet you left this tower – where several of the Avengers were and where J.A.R.V.I.S. can see you – in order to take photos for money that you don’t even need! You’re all we have, Peter. You’re all that May has left. Do you have any idea how devastated we’d be should anything happen to you? Your camera is confiscated. You’re grounded for a month. Are we clear?”

 

“I just –,” Peter said.

 

He paused to take in what was happening. It was clear that Tony had been worried, enough so that his eyes were rather red-rimmed and he seemed unfocused, and there was the slight worry that he may have had a drink to calm his nerves. Pepper, meanwhile, had probably been at breaking point and would likely cry once she felt he was out of earshot, because he noticed she had a tendency to cry in relief and to try and hide those tears so as not to worry her son.

 

It was probably for the best that he hadn’t stayed out longer, because they would have been at breaking point and scoured the city for him, which would have been awkward if they had seen Spider-Man and asked him to join in the hunt. He hugged his bag close to him and hoped that they wouldn’t ask to search it, but then he had given them no reason to and had accepted his punishment maturely. The weight of his costume felt far more than it ought, especially when there was the lingering paranoia that they might somehow see it or know of its presence, and so he clutched tighter and tried to smile as best as he could. The _chimichanga_ sat neglected beside him.

 

“Yes,” he said. “We’re clear.”

 

“Good. I see you took your bag out. Did you get the cake?”

 

“Oh! The cake? Well, I – I meant to, but I just . . .”

 

There was a loud sigh from Tony. He pushed himself out of his chair and ran a hand over his face, and it was then that Peter noticed a bruise on his father’s wrist. It reminded him that Tony had fought hard, only to return home to find his son missing in a city in chaos, and that maybe Peter hadn’t made it easy on his parents by acting as he had. The only consolation was that at least as Spider-Man he could do well and make a difference in the world, but now . . .

 

It had been nearly a year since Uncle Ben had died; Peter had nearly forgotten the date in the excitement about his own upcoming birthday, but tomorrow would mark the first-year anniversary since it had happened. Aunt May had wanted to celebrate his life and have her family around to pay their respects, and the _one_ thing asked of Peter was to pick up his uncle’s favourite cake from his favourite bakery. May hadn’t asked anything else of him. He wished he could blame it on the explosions, or on Deadpool distracting him, or even how Logan had asked him to watch his back, or how Mary Jane had spotted him – after a costume change – and asked to take photos with him. He couldn’t blame anyone else, however. He had simply just forgotten.

 

“Forgot the rules, forgot the cake,” said Tony.

 

“I’m so sorry! I’ll go right back out and get it, I swear!”

 

“It’s okay, Peter,” said Pepper. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been swamped with schoolwork, not to mention your extra-curriculum activities and hobbies. It’s only natural you’ll forget a few things every now and again, so don’t worry and _don’t_ beat yourself up over it. We’ll swing by and pick it up tomorrow, won’t we, Tony?”

 

“Sure! It’s not as though I have a city to save or a company to run.”

 

“Great! I’ll ring the bakery to tell them about the mix-up.”

 

“Let’s hope you don’t forget.”

 

The glare that Pepper sent Tony was dark indeed. He rolled his eyes and then cricked his neck with a sigh, after he ran his hands over his face he used them to wave an acknowledgement to his son, before he muttered an apology and fell down heavily onto the stool. He seemed exhausted beyond his years. It was hard not to feel some sympathy for him, especially when Peter found his eyes locked with the reactor in his chest and the glow through his shirt. It reminded him how just how human Tony really was, even when he seemed the perfect superhero.

 

“Why don’t you go to your room and eat?” Pepper suggested.

 

“I thought you were going to cook dinner? I would hate it to go to waste.”

 

“I was too worried to eat or to cook,” she confessed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in later on with your books and things here. I also want to talk to you a little more and make sure you’re okay. Just remember: no more sneaking out. Okay?”

 

“Okay. Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you later then.”

 

“Remember we love you!”

 

He climbed to his feet and gathered what he could. It was difficult when he didn’t wish to let go of his bag, because to even let it dangle by his side felt like a risk he couldn’t quite take. He walked by quickly, only pausing when Tony clapped a reassuring hand upon his shoulder and squeezed lightly, and – in a way – it did reassure him to know that his father still cared about him too. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten Ben like that. It was his fault Ben had died and yet he _forgot_.

 

It only took a few minutes to reach his room, at which point he threw the takeout food onto the desk that faced the window and his bag onto his office-chair. They had given him a corner room, on his request after Ben’s death, and as such he had windows on two of the walls to his personal space, so large and wide that it made entry in and out easier than anything he could have imagined. He loved this room. It made his work as Spider-Man so much easier, but it also provided excellent working space and helped him to relax as Peter. There was a wall-panel to his far right that acted as a state-of-the-art computer, whilst he also had part of the room dedicated to his own workshop, and even his books and research had taken up his bed. Like father, like son.

 

He gave a quick command to J.A.R.V.I.S. to lower the lights on his desks, whilst turning off the overhead lights. It gave the unfortunate effect of lighting up the photo by his desktop computer, the one framed of himself and Uncle Ben, and suddenly the words _‘with great power comes great responsibility’_ echoed in his head. He reached out to touch the glass, where his fingertips lingered over the man’s cheek. It was hard to bear the thought that he had failed him again. He had tried so hard _over and over_ to make amends and to help people with his powers, but it still wasn’t enough!

  
It was then that he pulled out his Spider-Man costume. He looked at it with mixed emotions; it was true that he could do so much good in this role, but the public vilified him as a vigilante, whilst it caused him to forget the important things like Uncle Ben. He wondered if the benefits were worth the cost. He gave a sigh and placed it at the bottom of his desk drawer, where the mask seemed to stare back at him.

 

“Until tomorrow . . .”


	3. Chapter 2

# Part One: Chapter Two

****

Spider-Man ducked.

 

The wreckage went over his head at great speeds; one piece of wood flew by so quickly that it shattered into splinters as it hit a chimney, whilst glass rained down upon him to the extent that he almost thought it _was_ raining. There was nothing but a cacophony of sounds for the longest time. He could hear the snapping of iron pipes and the hiss of steam, just as he could hear sirens below and tires screeching to a halt, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the more established heroes were called.

 

It took a long minute for the ringing in his ears to stop. He hoped that this new bout of tinnitus wouldn’t hinder his ability to fight, especially when his balance was vital to his web slinging and movements. He gave a sigh and slapped his ears a couple of times, hoping he didn’t look too much like a comical cartoon character to any passers-by, especially when he _was_ dressed as a superhero and had only moments previous jumped out of a factory window and onto the roof of a nearby building. Still, the fact that he could hear the dust and shards falling from him as he stood had to be a good sign. No permanent hearing damage yet.

 

“Talk about a big bang,” he muttered.

 

He brushed off the rubble from his suit and looked around, whilst he hoped – to all that was holy – it wouldn’t be Tony that responded to the explosion. It seemed that Iron Man was pretty intent on acting as a ‘mentor’ to Spider-Man, as well as trying to convince him to sign up with S.H.I.E.L.D., and frankly it was too time-consuming when he needed to be back at Stark Tower before anyone noticed Peter’s absence. He would have to get this over with quickly.

 

There was a pain in his knees from where he had landed on the roof, both of which were clearly bleeding through the shredded material of his costume, and his arms weren’t in much better condition either. Well, he could fix up his costume easily enough, but he would have to wear long-sleeves at home for a while to cover up the grazes and cuts, but it wasn’t as if Tony was all that observant anyway, not to mention that the wounds would hopefully heal pretty quickly once cleaned. His ankles ached, but that was to be expected. He felt a pain in his shoulder and a crick in his neck, but he couldn’t complain too much. Right, he had to find the Green Goblin’s men!

 

Spider-Man jumped onto the ledge of the roof in a crouch. The factory was almost decimated, just a shell of what it ought to be, but the walls still stood and some of the interior remained intact. There was a stone staircase that remained in place, which two of the Goblin’s men seemed to run up as if they would be able to stop Spider-Man even if they _could_ catch him. He had just expected a small scuffle, but not this. Who would be willing to _blow up_ an entire building, _just_ to get to one person?

 

He really hoped that they didn’t catch him . . .

 

Tony would be pissed if he saw a ransom for his son next to Spider-Man’s name. He had no doubt a certain Jameson would lap up the story, probably run a ‘family business’ spin, but his father would be furious and his mother would wonder where she went wrong, both worried for his safety. He noticed the two idiots in the building were getting closer to the top floor. This plan of theirs was moronic, especially when he could have easily have left already, but still they seemed to be under the delusion he would be waiting for them. Okay, he _was_ , but _they_ didn’t know that!

 

_‘Hey, you’re having a party and you didn’t invite me?’_

Oh no . . .

 

Spider-Man cringed inside his suit. He clenched his hands against the ledge and contorted his body awkwardly, which was usually something that crept out the odd onlookers by how pained and unnatural it looked. Still, the very last thing he needed right now was a sidekick, especially a ‘sidekick’ likely to add to the explosions and possibly the bloodshed. Spider-Man didn’t want his enemies to die. He wanted them to face justice and leave him well alone, but with _him_ around -? Forget it.

 

He tried to ignore the sudden poking at his head, which was as repetitive as it was painful. It was clearly _meant_ to hurt him, but more as a warning that all he had to do to make it stop was to pay attention to the perpetrator. Spider-Man tried to keep his eyes on the men inside the building, but they seemed to stop every so often to pick up small devices that he couldn’t quite make out, whilst the man behind him laughed and began to sing what suspiciously sounded like the _Pok_ _émon_ theme tune. They would reach the top floor pretty soon, which meant that they would either jump or attack. Spider-Man wondered what they were planning.

 

_‘Yo, Spidey!’_

“Deadpool, what do you know about explosions?”

 

Spider-Man jumped back and onto his feet. He stood to full height and tried not to look intimidated by Deadpool’s height advantage, because – let’s face it – the superheroes couldn’t let their fear show at any cost. This was a man that may have been something of an acquaintance, a possible friend even, but Spider-Man knew that their trust was limited and this was also a dangerous mercenary. He had once bullied Deadpool by removing his mask in public, just as Deadpool had once sold some information about his whereabouts to a mutual enemy. He had to be careful.

 

“Dude, you’re seriously asking me that?” Deadpool laughed and put his hands on his hips. “I know more about explosions that you’ll ever forget! Wait, maybe I’ve forgotten more about explosions than you’ll ever know? I always forget how that goes! I _do_ know that if it says twenty ounces of C4, just use all that you got! The metric system sucks! Wait, how does _he_ know metric when _I_ don’t?”

 

“Well, last time I checked, Canada _was_ metric,” said Spider-Man. “Look, all I want to know is – for an explosion like _that_ – how serious are those guys? Are these the type of guys who give in easily, or will I be picking bits of rubble out of my hair for the next four-to-five weeks? Seriously, I don’t have time for these stalkers.”

 

“I’m so going to ignore your Canada comment!”

 

“Being Canadian is an insult?”

 

It was exhausting to deal with explosions _and_ Deadpool. He would be feeling the ache in his muscles for at least a week, plus he was sure he was going to smell like smoke the moment he got home. There was a flash of light through one of the now non-existent windows of the factory, where it looked like the two henchmen were setting up some sort of machine or gun from the gap in the wall. They were at least three floors up, but still hadn’t jumped out or attempted to get across in any way. Spider-Man looked across to the street below and tried to count the pedestrians and mounting journalists. How many people would be at risk should he stay?

 

“ _Like anyone would want to kill someone that cute_? Shut up!”

 

“Er, I think your – what was it? – ‘narration’ is broke.”

 

“ _Then again, maybe someone took a hit on him_? Oh, now that _would_ be an insult! Yeah, that definitely deserves some payback. You hire someone to take out a superhero then you want the best mercenary alive on your side, not some lunatic wannabe assassins. Might be that they need taking out in return.”

 

Spider-Man tried not to shudder. He had never really considered that Deadpool would ever take a hit on him, hoping – against all hope – that they could maybe tentatively be labelled ‘friends’, but the truth was that Deadpool had his own moral code and it was impossible to try and predict his loyalties. The air felt far colder suddenly, but perhaps only as because the heat of the explosion had warn off, and he felt a little paranoid about the men above him. It was then Deadpool let out a childish groan, one that was almost pained and yet displayed a lot of anger barely in check.

 

“They’re pretty serious,” said Deadpool.

 

“How serious is ‘serious’? They don’t seem to doing much.”

 

“Ha! They don’t need to! You see that thing there? State of the art equipment! I’d be totally jealous, except I have one just like it in my apartment! Give it about fifty-five seconds and this whole roof will be going bye-bye! Seriously, now might be a good time for a Spidey-back! Oh, that sounds dirty . . . _Spidey-back_! Best kind of piggyback really! So, let’s get going! Unless you heal now, too?”

 

“You have got to be joking! If they’ve miscalculated the blast even slightly, we’ll get caught right up in it! I can’t swing away that quickly, least of all with a grown-man attached to my back like a limpet! Couldn’t you have told me sooner?”

 

“Fifteen seconds, Spidey!”

 

“ _Fine_!”

 

The man fist-pumped the air and let out a squeal of excitement. Spider-Man was still trying to work out the angles and force he would need to swing across to the building furthest away, when Deadpool took a running jump onto his back. He struggled to hold his weight, even with his extra strength and abilities, and the feeling of rather muscular arms around his neck felt . . . suffocating. It was true that Deadpool looked fine and seemed healthy enough, but what was a pro in battle was a con when it came to _carrying_ said person. It didn’t help when Deadpool kicked him like a mule.

 

“I could get used to this,” Deadpool said.

 

“You better not.”

 

Spider-Man gave a sigh and then aimed his web-shooter. He was lucky to catch a building to the far left and swung low, hoping to gain some speed and get as high as he possibly could, because – in the face of an explosion – low-ground would be a severe disadvantage. There was a great sense of relief when he saw buildings being evacuated and police cordoning off areas, which meant the people would be safe at the very least. He hoped this would be over with soon.

 

They moved quite well, despite the extra weight, and soon Spider-Man was able to get them high enough to be able to get a good aim for a nearby roof. It was difficult to concentrate on their surroundings with Deadpool screaming and cheering in his ear, which was now ringing even more than it had been just moments before, and yet he could just about make out the sound of a megaphone below calling out warnings of the public nuisance that was Spider-Man. There was a sudden flash of light, which blinded him just slightly and threw him off his swing.

 

The explosion came a few seconds afterwards.

 

Spider-Man let go of his web and let them both drop to the roof, although the force of the blast sent them tumbling in a pile of limbs hard against the rough roof, and everything seemed lost in a haze of pain. There was a hard and heavy weight of Deadpool dead against him at first, but the older man lost his grip and rolled one way, whilst Spider-Man – aching after having been crushed and injured – rolled rapidly away in the opposite direction. The pain was unbearable.

 

He pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. He coughed uncontrollably and lifted his mask just enough to gasp in some air, as he made sure not to have a barrier in case he needed to relieve his stomach. It felt as though his throat was constricting, a fact only made worse when he heard a slight wet and dripping noise, and when he looked down he saw drops of blood that seemed to be coming from his head. He had torn his uniform, although not as much as Deadpool – who seemed to be fixing a dislocated arm and fixing a broken leg – and yet that sight didn’t reassure him at all. There wasn’t a part of his body not aching or bruised or bleeding.

 

“Wahoo!” Deadpool called. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!”

 

“I – I think I hurt . . . my head.”

 

“Who hasn’t?”

 

It was painful. He had no idea how Deadpool could endure dislocated limbs and broken bones, especially when he knew logically that those things must hurt so much more, but all he could concentrate on was the sight of the blood and the stinging in his head. He retched a few times and sat back. The world seemed to spin around him and Deadpool – one of _two_ Deadpool – came towards him, whilst walking unevenly. His vision seemed to blur, but with dozens of dots snowing about his eyes.

 

“Huh,” said Deadpool. “You’re going to have to let me take a look.”

 

“I – I can’t. I – I mean I –”

 

“It’s fine, Spidey! I know my first-aid! We had to learn back in the army and stuff, or maybe I was secretly a nurse, or a doctor -! Doctors are so much better! Pick a back-story that works best for you, all right? Anyway, just take off the mask! I’ll stand behind you, like this –” Deadpool moved behind him “– and I won’t see your face at all! I won’t even take a sneak-peek, I swear!”

 

Spider-Man breathed deeply. He would have to be insane to let Deadpool take off his mask, especially when they had no idea whether the Goblin’s henchmen were still on their tails or close enough to actually catch them. There was no way he could risk a villain seeing his face. That wasn’t to mention the fact that he could hear what sounded suspiciously like AC/DC over by the wrecked factory. What if a news-helicopter swooped down and saw his face? What if so many things?

 

He realised then that Deadpool had hooked his arms under his armpits, and had begun to drag Spider-Man along to a small covering. It was hard to see straight, but it seemed like an open doorway that led to the staircase of the building, and he couldn’t help but be a little grateful that they were at least inside enough to be covered up and so that his face wouldn’t be seen by anyone else. How badly was it bleeding? He couldn’t go home like this, but nor could he go to a hospital either. True, Deadpool had a healing factor and probably wasn’t a first-aid whiz, but it had to be better than nothing, didn’t it? He could already feel the blood trickle down his neck.

 

“O-okay,” he said. “I’ll trust you this once.”

 

“A true honour!”

 

Deadpool moved behind him once more. Spider-Man felt a push against his shoulder and warmth about his waist, and he realised that the other man had sat behind him to support his weight and to get a better look. He looked down to see Deadpool’s legs on either side of his own, before Spider-Man reached up to carefully remove his mask, although he had to wince painfully as the red mask pulled at the cut upon his head. Deadpool at once – true to his word, not even attempting to look at his face – began to put his fingers to the wound and examine it. It hurt him. He gave a hiss of breath through his teeth and moved his head lower, even as Deadpool jerked it back.

 

Peter could only look at the mask in his hands, whilst he felt his hair parted and the skin around the cut pressed upon. The reflective lenses of the mask reflected his face back at him, so that he could see a swollen cheek and bloodshot eye, and he could also see the cut on his eyebrow and bruise to his chin. There were a lot more injuries than he had thought or felt. He tried to formulate excuses in his mind, perhaps he could say he got into a fight or fell down the stairs . . .

 

“You’re lucky, it looks fine!”

 

“Head injuries are serious, Wade.”

 

“Nah, not this one! Seriously, the bleeding has nearly stopped. Just keep your hand pressed against it, right here, see? The wound’s pretty shallow, plus nothing is in it, you must just have hit a vein! You’re more coherent already!”

 

“I still think I have some brain damage. I must have to trust you.”

 

“I’ll have you know, I’ve not looked at your face yet!”

 

“No, I bet you’re staring at my ass instead.”

 

“Maybe . . .”

 

It was then a loud cough interrupted them. There was a brief moment of dread as Peter feared a journalist would be standing in the doorway, or – worse – the Green Goblin himself, and he wondered if his life would ever be the same. He thought ahead to how he would be unable to go to school and see MJ or Ava, or how his aunt would be so disappointed in him and ask why he had kept it hidden for so long, or how this would affect his father’s company and publicity. He turned to look at the intruder.

 

Tony looked less than amused. The blasting of retro-rock had stopped, but that was probably only out of the need to talk and not draw attention to their location. It was obvious that he had been caught in the explosion; his armour was dented and soot-covered, whilst his face looked flushed as the helmet retracted and revealed his sour expression to both Deadpool and Peter. He had probably followed Spider-Man to make sure the young superhero was okay, perhaps to even make sure that Deadpool hadn’t coerced him into anything dangerous or illegal, and now he stood looking down at the true identity of the masked vigilante: Peter Parker.

 

He looked a strange mixture of fury and fear, so that he kept his eyes trained on Peter and yet seemed to be desperate to keep Deadpool in his periphery. There was a slight movement to his lips, almost as if he were playing with them in a curious attempt to force himself not to scream and shout, and his eyes were filmed over as if he were holding back tears. Tony wasn’t a sensitive man, but he cared about his son more than anything else. He would be afraid of losing Peter. It was then that he gave a smirk and looked straight at Deadpool with a cold eye.

 

“So,” said Tony, “whose ass were you staring at?”

 

Peter instinctively dropped his head back. It took Deadpool to poke just above his neck to keep it propped up, which was likely for the best when he considered the wound that would have otherwise reopened with the pressure of his action. He instead sat forward and prayed – to anyone that would listen – that Deadpool would be allowed to leave without getting a look at his face. The last thing he needed was for _both_ men to know his true identity. This was unfair.

 

“Spider-Man’s!” Deadpool laughed. “Are you jealous? I’d stare at yours, but it’s all metallic and shiny and large . . . not in a good way, either! It’s just not attractive at all! Now, that Black Widow babe you hang out with? _She_ has a damned fine ass! Instant boner, right there! It might even be as good as our Spidey’s! I’d make a move, but with his head wound he might say no! Temporary insanity, am I right?”

 

“Ah, I see. So someone has a little crush on Spider-Man?”

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘crush’! That’s such an unmanly -!”

 

Tony lifted his arm and aimed his laser. The whirring sound of the weapon loading was almost deafening, but the warning was perfectly clear. Peter groaned and dropped his head onto his palm, as he thought about what an over-reaction this was, but he knew that Deadpool wasn’t exactly . . . _sensible_. The older man was likely to say something stupid or attempt to flirt with him, and that would only piss Tony off further, and – frankly – blood on the stairwell seemed a miserable attempt at repayment. Deadpool had given him the head’s up that had saved his life.

 

“Frankly, I didn’t think minors your type,” said Tony. “Not surprised, though.”

 

“Minors? Spider-Man isn’t a – uh – wait . . . _dude, no way_ . . .  that would explain why he’s so short . . . hey, will you guys pipe down? This guy is a superhero! Superheroes are all . . . uh -. Hey, kiddo -! Just how old are you?”

 

“F-fifteen,” muttered Peter.

 

It was then he turned around to face Deadpool. There was no way to read the other man’s expression, but – judging from the way he at once jumped to his feet – it was pretty clear that he hadn’t expected his greatest idol to still be a child. Peter could almost feel the eyes of the older man widening, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to roll his eyes or give Deadpool a stern gaze. The truth was that Deadpool had treated Peter just as he had treated everyone else; it was the first time in a long time that Peter hadn’t been some ‘dumb nerd’ in a hallway, or some ‘precious boy’ that needed coddling at home, but just a _person_ and judged for his _abilities_. He almost resented that having been taken away by his now revealed identity. 

 

Deadpool began to wave his hand in front of Peter’s face, almost as if he did not expect the younger boy to see him or be coherent enough to respond, almost as if he were testing him in some way. Not once did Tony’s laser move its aim from the body of the mercenary, but not once did Deadpool seem to care or notice. Eventually the mercenary swung around in a wide circle and lifted his head to look at the ceiling, before he stopped and gave a salute to Tony in mock-respect.

 

“Runs in the family, huh?” Deadpool asked.

 

“Get out,” snapped Tony. “If I find that you’ve stepped within a mile of my son, I’ll have you locked inside one of my suits and dropped into the ocean. You might not die, but you’ll spend the rest of eternity bored as fuck.”

 

“Aw, it’s so adorable when your inner ‘mama bear’ gets out! Don’t you worry, Metal Human! I may have the kind of morals that make even Loki weep with envy, but I’m not completely without standards -! Okay, so _maybe_ I forget to tip and _maybe_ I eat lunch in the bathroom and _maybe_ I have this recurring spot that I can’t help but pop, but – hey – we all have our quirks, right? Okay, so what was my point?

 

“Oh yeah! I remember! Deadpool’s number one rule, ladies and gentlemen, fans of all ages –! Hey, just who reads this story anyway? Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Okay, okay, I’m getting to my point, Stark! My one rule is that I _don’t_ hurt children! I don’t take hits on kids, I don’t hit kids, and I don’t even swear in front of kids . . . much . . . at least no harsh curses! I swear upon a stack of tacos that I’ll be good from now on! No more flirting, and no more accepting hits on him! Today I’ll be as good as a Wolverine! _No, even better_! I’ll be as good as a Spidey! Ha, see you around, Stark!”

 

Deadpool made to run past Tony’s right. The other man brought his arm low to swing out, likely to get a good punch to Deadpool’s stomach, but it seemed that Deadpool proved to be as unpredictable as always. The mercenary changed directions quickly and dodged to Tony’s left side, and got past the small gap with ease, before he then grabbed his crotch and did a moonwalk backwards. He soon disappeared out of sight. It would have been funny to hear him sing ‘Bad’ at any other time, but . . .

 

He had never seen Tony look so furious, especially not at _Peter_. There had been times when they had worked together as Iron Man and Spider-Man, but even when Spider-Man had screwed up – enough to piss the older man off tenfold – Tony had never known who it was behind the mask. Tony had never been mad _at_ Peter, only at the mask, never really knowing whom was behind it. This would change their relationship completely, assuming he would even be allowed to continue with his superhero act, and he had to live with the fact he may have ruined his relationship with his father.

 

Peter climbed to his feet and looked down at the mask in his hands, which suddenly felt far heavier than a piece of material and plastic should, and as he looked at those reflective lenses he saw himself reflected back. He hated the idea that he might have shamed his family or ruined the reputations of his friends, but worse was the disappointment etched into his father’s face. He had failed them all.

 

“Time to go home, Peter,” said Tony.

 

He watched as Tony put his mask back in place, before he turned to walk away. Peter still felt shaky and unbalanced, but he trusted Deadpool that the wound was nothing to worry about, as well as the fact that his father was a complete worrywart when it came to his health. If Tony didn’t seem too worried, it was because there was nothing to worry about. No, all he had to worry about was disappointing the two people that had taken him in and loved him unconditionally . . . all because he had been responsible for his uncle’s death . . . all because he couldn’t put things right . . .

 

Peter pulled on the mask.

 

It was all he could do.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

# Part One: Chapter Three

****

“So . . . you’re Spider-Man?”

 

Peter looked down at his hands. He picked nervously at the scraps of his glove, which still hung on his hand by barely a thread. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Bruce’s question, because he respected the much older man more than he could possibly put into words, but simply that it was an incredibly hard question _to_ answer. The fact was that Bruce and Pepper knew for a fact that he was Spider-Man, ever since Tony had dragged him – still in his tattered outfit – into the lounge . . .

 

What was he supposed to say? There was nothing he could say to ease his guilt or to lessen their worrying, and to admit to his secret identity felt like he would be giving weight to it . . . making it real when it otherwise wouldn’t be . . . it would no longer _be_ a secret. Peter would have to tell them everything. They would know which villains he had fought, what days he had broke curfew, how he had obtained his injuries . . . they would know _everything_. He would no longer have any secrets, but the very fact that he had hid this from them meant that he would no longer have any _right_ to any secrets. How would they be able to trust him?

 

It was true that this job put him in danger. He sat on the sofa in an outfit ripped and torn to shreds, with more bruises and cuts than he could count, and – were it not for Deadpool arriving last minute – he may have even died in that explosion, too. There were risks from his powers and the people those powers attracted, but there were other dangers too; the press had painted Spider-Man as a deranged vigilante at best, as someone dangerous that caused more problems than they fixed, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that Spider-Man broke laws to save people.

 

It was no wonder that they were so angry, really . . .

 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he admitted.

 

He looked up to look at his parents. Tony leaned back on a barstool and rested his head in his hands on the bar, luckily most of the liquids were non-alcoholic, but it didn’t stop his father from staring into a tumbler of amber liquid as if it were the richest whiskey ever created. Bruce – almost an uncle to him – sat hunched forward on the sofa not too far away, where he massaged his temples and wore a smile that shook dangerously and worryingly. He looked deeply hurt.

 

It was difficult to picture anyone hurt more deeply than those two men, but Pepper managed to show depths that even they could not reach. There were many that may not have seen her pain, simply because she hid it so well and kept such a stoic expression, but Peter knew her as well as he knew himself. She stood at the far end of the sofa with a hand lightly rested upon her neck and chest. It reminded Peter of those women in old movies that would try to catch their breaths, holding onto their necklaces or necks as if it would someone bring air back to them, but she seemed stronger than those women somehow. Pepper looked impressive with hair pinned back and in a professional suit, but she was also pale. She was hurt.

 

“All this time,” Pepper asked, “it was you?”

 

“It’s been nearly a year,” he confessed. “It was me the whole time. It’s actually how I met a lot of the friends that I have, because they have powers or secret identities too. I meant to tell you all eventually, but – er – probably after my eighteenth. I just – I didn’t want to worry you guys! I know how you worry!”

 

“Worry? _Worry_?”

 

Pepper drew in a deep breath. It was clear that she was trying to centre herself, so as to prevent herself from shouting or scaring her only child, but evidently she was overwhelmed by what she had learned. He looked at her pale eyes and saw her staring hard back at him, and – for a brief moment – he felt a chill of terror that only those potential employees before the extremely confident interviewer ever felt, which left him with a sudden empathy for all their company’s applicants. He never realised how intimidating she could be until there was something that captured her attention.

 

“Peter, of course we worry! You’re our son! If you knew that we’d be worried, surely you had the reason to realise _why_? You wouldn’t have hidden this from us for so long, not if you truly thought it acceptable, but instead you made the conscious choice to keep this secret identity and put yourself directly in danger. Why, Peter? Why did you feel the need to do this when we have other superheroes to intervene?”

 

“That’s the problem! We _don’t_ have other superheroes to intervene!”

 

“Hey,” Tony snapped. “ _Right here_!”

 

Pepper gave a brief smile. It was difficult not to smile when Tony looked so genuinely offended, enough that he gave a large wave of his hand for the attention of his friend and family. Tony was a superhero, that was true, even when he sat lazily in the back of the room with his black shirt loose and partially undone, and his hair mussed slightly from the helmet of his costume. It was hard not to feel a twinge of guilt, because he knew how hard his father had worked to improve his character and to become a better person, and so the last thing he wanted was to slight him in any way.

 

He looked down at the broken mask in his hands, where the broken eyes of Spider-Man reflected back at him dozens of versions of Peter, and suddenly he did not feel as confident as he once had. The touch of the plastic felt cold to his fingertips, but it just served to remind him of how fragile everything was. Peter looked back up and strove to find the words to make everything right. It was so much easier to speak freely as Spider-Man than it was as Peter. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“I know that there are other heroes . . .”

 

“But what?” Tony asked. “You can do better?”

 

“Let’s . . . let’s just let him speak for himself,” said Bruce.

 

Bruce nodded to him gently. There was a something almost fragile about his expression, where it seemed his smile could fade at any second, but there was also a great strength in the way he composed himself and held his body. He clasped his hands loosely between his legs, whilst he kept them parted casually and leaned over just enough to appear relaxed and comfortable. It made Peter feel that Bruce was genuinely interested in what he had to say.

 

“Go on, Peter,” he said.

 

“It’s just that –” Peter paused to draw in breath – “most heroes are concerned with bigger things, you know? Dad was involved with actual wars, then stopping an invasion led by Loki on Earth, then terrorist organisations . . . Steve took down H.Y.D.R.A. and worked towards protecting the nation . . . what of the little guys? Who stands up for them? I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to _help_ people.

 

“There is so much crime in New York. I see people on a day-to-day basis become victims of attacks or petty crime, so if I can help even one of those people – even for just a _second_ – then isn’t it worth it? Okay, so sometimes bigger opponents come my way, people with powers like mine, but they usually they aren’t worth the time of the Avengers or Fantastic Four or the X-Men . . . I’m not saying I can do what they can’t, but more that they don’t have time for the small stuff. _I do_. If I can help in some small way . . . I – I messed up once; I can’t do that again, I just can’t!

 

“There – there was a criminal a long time ago, but I let him go. The guy that I was supposed to save was a bit ungrateful, so I decided that he wasn’t worth saving, and then . . . I just forgot all about it. You know who that criminal proved to be? It was Uncle Ben’s killer. The criminal that _I_ let loose was the same criminal that killed _my_ uncle. It’s hard to forget his words that he used to say to me growing up, that with great power there comes great responsibility. Since then I’ve tried to do right.

 

“I try to protect everyone, because . . . doesn’t everyone deserve that?”

 

“Everyone does,” said Pepper. “Including _you_ , Peter.”

 

“It’s not safe what you’re doing,” added Tony.

 

Peter thought about what they said. He knew that it would not be long until his sixteenth birthday, but even then he knew that sixteen was still pretty young in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t want to think of himself as a child, even if Tony and Pepper still thought of him as one, but he did realise that he had more than his fair share of responsibility for a kid his age. It was hard to say whether it was right that patrolling the city and helping keep the streets safe took up his free time, but someone had to do it and he had a duty to protect the people.

 

“We never knew about your Uncle Ben,” Pepper said.

 

He clenched tighter upon his mask and drew in a deep breath. It was difficult to remain calm and remember all that Bruce taught him about self-control, but he someone managed to control his breathing and centre himself. The truth was that no one had known about his Uncle Ben or the role he had played in his death, and the last thing he wanted was pity or false reassurances. Peter had a feeling that maybe – just _maybe_ – someone like Bruce or Wade would understand, but before he only had to worry about revealing his secret identity and now he just worried about the effect it would have on them. He didn’t want to bring down his friends.

 

They now knew the truth and he didn’t know how to deal with that, because now they would either hate him for his role in Ben’s death or pity him for the guilt that he felt. He could see it in Tony and Pepper’s eyes; his mother looked at him with opened mouth and eyes already shimmered with unshed tears, whilst his father stared at him with wide eyes and bit his lip to stop himself from speaking without thinking. Bruce just looked down at his hands with what seemed to be pain. He looked heartbroken.

 

“Do you need to talk about it?” Pepper asked.

 

“What’s there to talk about? I was a brat and thought I had a right to pick and choose who deserved my help, and – thanks to that – a good man died due to my actions. I may as well have killed Uncle Ben myself. I _have_ to put things right!”

 

“Okay,” interrupted Tony. “Okay, we’ll talk about getting you some therapy later. I’ll ask Bruce where he went for his; I mean whoever delivered his anger management was nothing short of a miracle, but listen . . . Spider-Man – _ridiculous_ name, by the way – can climb walls and contort into positions that would put a porn-star to shame. You weren’t _born_ a mutant, so you want to tell us where those skills came from?”

 

“Oh, well, about that . . . you remember that field-trip I went on a while back? You didn’t want me to go, because it would be risky as the son of Tony Stark to be about in a public place without protection or the Avengers around? Well, whilst I was there I kind of bumped into a radioactive spider . . . it bit me and then this.”

 

“ _A radioactive_ -? Okay, first off: pretty sure that radiation doesn’t work that way.”

 

“Tony?” Bruce interrupted: “Let _me_ decide how radiation works.”

 

“Yeah, but a spider bite? Come on!”

 

Tony downed his drink. He then quickly climbed off his stool and walked across the lounge, where he sent a curious look to both Pepper and Bruce in turn. It was clear that he was incredulous about the whole thing, so perhaps he looked to the others for some sort of reassurance or validation about what was said, but instead he just seemed to get cold and silent looks in return. Pepper narrowed her eyes and looked to the sofa, where Bruce patted a spot beside him. Tony gave in.

 

He fell back onto the sofa with a mildly childish pout, where he crossed his arms across his chest and folded his legs at the ankle, and all the while he glared at Bruce as if Bruce were somehow the root of all his problems. It made Peter wonder whether he should have turned to Bruce when this first happened, with the radiation and all, but it was too late now to think of such things. What was done was done.

 

“It didn’t . . . hurt you, did it?” Pepper asked.

 

Peter smiled as he looked down at his mask. It was a difficult question to answer, but he luckily knew what she meant to ask. The room suddenly felt a little darker, so that the windows now only reflected the lounge back at them, and outside was a world filled with a black sky and a full moon. He felt warm and secure inside the tower, but a part of him longed to get back out there and deal with what needed to be dealt with, as well as to just swing about on patrol and give himself a break from things. He needed some time to himself. He needed to think.

 

“No,” he answered. “I’m fine, honestly. I can – I can climb walls and ceilings, but those are because of the small hairs that kind of grew on my – er – palms and things. I _know_ what you’re thinking, Dad, so _before_ you make any stupid jokes then bear in mind that Deadpool probably made them _first_ . . . aside from that I also gained new strength and speed, a sixth-sense that alerts me to danger, and I became double-jointed in most places, so I can contort too. It’s all been useful.

 

“The web-slingers are a design all of my own, which I use to get from place to place, and I’ve managed to make a few allies and new friends. Actually, S.H.I.E.L.D. asked me to join them to lead a team that they have, but – with things as they are – I had to decline and take a step back. I still help out from time to time, but the team does their thing for the most part. I didn’t want to risk my identity getting back to you guys, or to get caught up in a mission and miss school or chores . . . it’s been difficult enough juggling all my responsibilities, but I manage. I would struggle if I added leading a team to all of that, not least because Nova makes it unbearably difficult.”

 

“Nova?” Tony asked. “Is he one of your team-mates? Who else is there?”

 

“Does it matter? You’ll just check with S.H.I.E.L.D anyway.”

 

“Okay, so what other friends have you made?”

 

There was a long moment of silence. Peter knew that he could have given a straight list of all the heroes that he had met and worked with, but his father wasn’t asking out of a sincere curiosity, rather he was asking out of a paternal worry. There had been a handful of times in the past where Spider-Man was wrongly associated with villains or crimes, but also a handful of times when he had actively been seen working with people that he probably shouldn’t.

 

Today had been one of those days. Tony had – as Iron Man – found him receiving first aid straight from Deadpool himself, and no doubt his father feared why. He feared a bad influence. It was probably a rational fear to have, especially when Tony had only just found out that his son was the city’s notorious ‘vigilante’, but it was difficult not to feel condescended to when his father beat around the bush so obviously. They had every right to worry about him, but he felt smothered and as if he had to have every little decision approved of by them first, including his friends. Did every teenager feel this way? 

 

“Are you asking if I’m friends with Deadpool?”

 

“He was fixing your head wound, Peter!” Tony snapped. “You had your mask off! _Great choice_ , by the way, showing him your face. That’s _just_ what we need! Why don’t we just get your micro-chipped? That way he can track you at all times.”

 

“Look, I know that Wade is a bit unconventional –”

 

“A bit unconventional? No, washing your hairdryer in the bathtub is a ‘bit unconventional’; being friends with Deadpool is outright suicidal! He’s a mercenary, Peter, an _assassin_! He kills people for a living, he betrays his friends on a whim, and his loyalties are to no one but himself. Not to mention that he’s mentally unstable! I never know if he’s talking to me or the voices!”

 

“Look, it’s not as though we’re best friends. He knows nothing about my life and I know nothing about his, but every now and again our needs overlap and we help each other out with various jobs. It’s not a crime to share food with someone every now and again, but it hardly makes him my trusted confidante either, and – if you must know – we’ve had our fair share of fights, too. I – I hate to admit it, but I beat him to a pulp when I thought he had taken a hit on Mr Cheng, and one time we were insulting each other and I responded by ripping off his mask . . .

 

“I’m probably luckily he _does_ consider me a friend,” Peter admitted. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill me for humiliating him like that, especially considering that I did it in a public place. He’s trying to improve himself, too. He says he wants to be more like Spider-Man and Captain America; he wants to be a hero, although I worry he’s more interested in _recognition_ than actually _helping_ people, but still . . . he hasn’t taken an actual hit in a really long time. He stopped killing for money.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true,” said Tony. “It’s just too bad that your friend still is willing to create explosions for money, kidnap for money, and break laws to get what he wants, which includes _stealing_ too. You’re romanticising a villain.”

 

“No, I’m admitting that he’s a flawed individual striving to do better.”

 

“Wait, did you – did you _break him out_ of jail?”

 

Peter winced. He knew exactly what incident that his father referred to, but as far as he knew the police had put the whole escape down to Deadpool’s skills and abilities, not down to Spider-Man in the slightest. It was clear – at some point – that Deadpool must have bragged to one of the Avengers about his new ‘best friend’, about how Spider-Man ‘broke him out’ of prison, and now it made it harder to argue that Deadpool _wasn’t_ a bad influence. Spider-Man had broken the law for him.

 

He wondered what else his father knew about. It would be difficult to continue his work as Spider-Man, if Tony decided that he was going to create a list of all of his screw-ups and all the negative influences in his life. He could understand them being over-protective, but he had survived this long as a superhero and made a massive difference in the community, that had to count for something, didn’t it? They wouldn’t want him to be in any danger. They loved him. It probably tore them up inside to see him so battered and broken, knowing that he had snuck out of his bedroom window to do so, knowing that he had used his webs and abilities to go halfway across the city without their knowing. They probably felt helpless.

 

It was then he noticed Tony glaring at him; he made chopping gestures in the air, as if somehow demonstrating his anger with his half-closed hand, and he let out a long and low hiss of breath. Bruce, meanwhile, simply removed his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose, whilst Pepper looked around wildly as if in confusion. She clearly did not know about many of Spider-Man’s escapades, but the news of this particular one seemed something of an absolute shock to her. Eventually she turned to face him directly and silently demanded an answer as well.

 

“I broke him out _one time_ ,” said Peter. “I didn’t think he’d _brag_ about it.”

 

“Yeah? Well, he did,” snapped Tony. “Obviously the friendships that Spider-Man has are pretty complex, but – starting today – you’re going to tell us about _every single person_ Spider-Man is acquainted with and how. We’ll judge whether those are healthy or not, but as for the _assassin_ whose only good point is that he can say he hasn’t killed anyone in _months_ . . . _stay away from the crazies_!”

 

“I’m pretty sure only Bruce is qualified to call people crazy –”

 

_‘Not that kind of doctor!’_

“– and even if Deadpool is crazy, he’s still a useful ally! I know that I should have told you about my other identity sooner, but I didn’t and I’m sorry about that! I’m not just going to abandon my friends, however, just because you disapprove!”

 

“Peter?” Bruce gave a sigh. “Your father isn’t telling you who to be friends with, but he _is_ worried about you. You have proved to be a responsible and intelligent young man, and no one denies that you’re a pretty good judge of character. We know that Gwen is the perfect girlfriend, just as how Harry and Mary Jane seem to be very good influences, but in this one area . . . could you not just give in a little? No one wants to control you. We just want you to be safe.”

 

“You agree with Dad? You don’t think I’m safe around Deadpool?”

 

“I think it doesn’t matter what I think.”

 

“What matters is what I think?”

 

Bruce smiled. This was perhaps why he loved and respected the older man so much, because he never tried to impose his beliefs or opinions on anyone else, and Peter never felt backed into a corner or that he needed to be defensive. Bruce was the sort of man that would make it clear what the situation was, but then leave it to the individual to choose right or to choose wrong. It would be their responsibility. Peter sighed as he thought about that word: responsibility.

 

They had a point, _yes_ , but Deadpool was still borderline in his morals and actions, so that – even if he didn’t kill for money – he still killed whenever he felt it necessary, and he still seemed . . . Peter didn’t know what really . . . _depressive_? He knew it wasn’t up to him to fix the world and everyone in it, but if he turned his back on his friend now then there was no telling how he would react to that kind of rejection. It wasn’t as if he could change the other man, maybe Deadpool would revert back to his old ways or just wasn’t capable of change, but Peter sure as heck didn’t want to be the one to push him over the edge. He didn’t want to be the one to hurt him. 

 

“I can’t give up on my friends,” said Peter.

 

“Peter,” Tony snapped. “You will –”

 

Pepper raised her hand and stopped Tony. It was a simple gesture, but a powerful one that depicted her control of the situation. She drew in a deep breath, one that caused her chest to extend and her back to straighten, and when she exhaled she looked to Peter with a stern and authoritative gaze. It was probably a case of her wanting to talk to her partner alone, so that they could decide together how to approach the situation, perhaps with Bruce’s insight to help, but they couldn’t make any decisions with Peter present. He was about to be banished for the evening.

 

“Go to your room, Peter,” she said.

 

“Mom, I can –”

 

“Go to your room. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

  
He jumped to his feet and practically stormed out of the lounge, ignoring his father’s command to J.A.R.V.I.S. to watch the windows and doors, along with a command to keep a check on Peter’s vitals and to call a doctor immediately on any change. They loved him, but they still saw him as a child! He didn’t want to put Spider-Man on an indefinite hiatus, or to ignore Deadpool simply as Tony told him too, and he worried about what affect this would have on the city. He worried about it all.

 

It was a sleepless night.


	5. Chapter 4

# Part One: Chapter Four

****

“What do you think, Peter?”

 

“Huh?”

 

He gave a small jump. The question came as something of a shock to him, because he had honestly not expected her to turn to him for some sort of acknowledgement or response. It wasn’t as if she were the selfish sort; he had never really known her to babble aimlessly or to ignore social cues, not least to ignore his needs at any point, but had simply become lost in thought almost entirely. He had let himself get so wrapped up within himself that he had forgotten the world around him.

 

The cafeteria seemed so lively today, enough so that he quickly looked around for the person she must have been addressing, but then he registered his name and realised that she was talking to him. It had only been a few days since his parents had uncovered his identity, but it was enough to completely unnerve him. They had allowed him – reluctantly – to continue on as Spider-Man, but they had grounded him from leaving his room for anything other than school, and meanwhile he worried incessantly about how he had let them down and how he would make it up to them. He wanted to talk to her about it, but how could he? He couldn’t tell her the truth.

 

“I – er – think it’s great?”

 

Gwen stabbed her meatloaf a little violently. It was clear that she was annoyed, for her blue eyes never left his nervous set even once. Peter really hated that stare, because it felt as if she were somehow looking into his soul, and she knew him so well that she recognised all his tells. She knew that something was wrong and that something was off, but she also knew that he was hiding it from her and couldn’t trust her enough to tell her. Peter knew she felt unloved by it all.

 

It didn’t do much to help his guilt, because there was a part of him that so desperately wanted to confess everything to her. He had to live with the fact that Mary Jane knew his identity, his team all knew his identity, and his parents now knew, too . . . hell, even _Wade_ knew . . . Gwen, however, didn’t even have the slightest idea. Peter wondered what he had done to deserve someone like Gwen; she was beautiful inside and out, and not to mention forgiving to a fault. They had their ups and downs, enough that she once flirted with both Harry and Flash on one of their breaks, but overall what they had was _real_ . . . then again, how could it be real? He lied to her about something crucial!

 

Gwen gave a sigh and brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, before she then continued to eat with a rather tense expression. A part of Peter knew without doubt that she would make it as a supermodel, just as she planned to become, but another part of him resented this fact. He had lost so many people, but how could he lose his one and only girlfriend? He bit his lip in frustration at that thought. He feared that he clung to her out of fear of being alone, or perhaps the reason he lied and pushed her away was so he could control the inevitable rejection he so feared . . .

 

“You’re getting lost in thought again, Peter.”

 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “There’s just so much going on.”

 

“That’s what I’ve _just_ been saying! You won’t _trust_ me to talk to me!”

 

He glanced down to his plate and frowned. It wasn’t as if he could accuse her of stretching facts, but at the same time there was only so much that he _could_ tell her. He wondered why they couldn’t have the relationship that he had with Mary Jane, although then they would probably not be dating at all, not least because the _last_ time he and Mary Jane had tried to kiss it had felt . . . well . . . _wrong_. Gwen was great as she was anyway, enough so that it felt wrong to imagine her differently. She was fine just the way she was, but then why couldn’t he trust her?

 

“I do trust you, Gwen,” he insisted. “It’s just –”

 

“It’s just _what_ , Peter?” Gwen shook her head in frustration. “I love you so much! I know that we’re both young, but I really think this could be something serious! Everyone keeps telling me that it’s a teenage crush, that we’re just fifteen and don’t know what we want from life yet, but I know this is real! I just -! It hurts me when you don’t listen to me, you know? This isn’t just my future, but _our_ future.”

 

“I know,” he replied sadly. “What do you want me to say, Gwen? England is – well it’s – it’s a massive opportunity for you! I _can’t_ be the one to say ‘don’t go’, because what if you resent me for it? You – you don’t know what I’m like! I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I can’t tell you my secrets, about the bad things that I’ve done, and I can’t ask you to _stay_ with someone that you can’t trust in turn. It’s not fair on you, Gwen. I love you, but when I think about you going . . . I get scared that you’ll meet someone else, but I also get scared you’ll hate me if you stay . . .”

 

“Peter, just give me a reason to stay! Ask me to stay and I’ll stay! All I ask is that you stop hiding things and _trust_ me; if you can do that, I swear to you that I’ll stay here by your side and we can be together! I love you, too. Just trust me!”

 

“Just – just give me time to think about it.”

 

“How much time do you need?”

 

He looked about the cafeteria and saw Mary Jane by the doors, where it seemed that Harry was with her making polite conversation. In the distance he could see Sam, Luke and Danny sitting around a table together; they laughed and joked, whilst they talked about something exciting judging by their animated gestures, and Peter couldn’t help but envy them for a moment. It was difficult to say how much time he would need to make a decision, but a part of him knew what his choice would be.

 

They sat in silence for a few long moments. The truth was that – since her father’s death – she had blamed Spider-Man for all that happened, whilst clinging to Peter for emotional support and help during her time of mourning. He felt as if he were betraying her with every hug, as if he were lying to her with every warm word, and all the time she had no idea that the boy she clung to was the very man that she blamed for her father’s death. It was bad enough that she might hate him for his part in the events, but worse when she would realise the boyfriend she loved was the vigilante she hated. He gave a heavy sigh.

 

“Just give me a few days, okay?”

 

She looked to him one last time, but this time her eyes were filled with nothing but sadness and regret. It broke his heart to see her look that way, but eventually she looked down to her meal with a broken smile, and she seemed older beyond her years. He thought her beautiful in her moment of vulnerability, but even her fashionable clothes and perfect complexion didn’t hide her pain, and in that moment he wondered how he would stay strong enough to hold in his pain.

 

“You trust Ava and your mystery friend Wade,” Gwen said. “How long have you known them for, Peter? Ava transferred here – what? – a few months ago? I haven’t even _met_ this Wade yet. You trust them more than me?”

 

“It’s – it’s not about how much I trust them . . .”

 

“Then what is it about?”

 

It was then that he looked up to see MJ and Harry. They appeared happy enough, but Peter could sense that something was amiss between the pair. Harry seemed pretty anxious, although that wasn’t all that new lately, and the muscles along his jaw and eyes both seemed tense and tight. Mary Jane, however, appeared to be the height of contentment aside from a slight sadness to her smile, and it was clear that the young couple were having problems of their own, although Peter refrained from mentioning it. He would ask MJ later in private, but not publicly like this.

 

“I swear,” Peter promised, “I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Peter, I really –”

 

_‘Hey there, guys! Long time, no see!’_

Mary Jane sat elegantly opposite Gwen, where she gave a small wave. It was nice to see her looking so healthy and happy, even if things weren’t perfect with Harry, and she looked so professional in her black and grey outfit. She looked quite on trend, but at the same time she would fit in great at her internship after work, and – even though the placement was only for a few weeks – it would look great on her resume during college. Peter envied her for her ambition and talent.

 

A few seconds after Harry sat opposite Peter and slid his tray onto the table, but there was something about him that just seemed a little . . . off. Peter frowned a little and tried to work out what it was, whilst he played through a dozen or so situations in his head, but nothing added up in the least. He hadn’t realised he had been staring, not until the laughter of his girlfriend and best friend woke him up to reality. It took him a few minutes to catch up with the conversation, although it sounded like the girls were mostly talking about fashion, but soon MJ turned to him.

 

“I haven’t seen you since the grounding, Pete,” said MJ. “How are you?”

 

“Sorry about that,” he answered. “My parents took away my phone and internet privileges, not to mention I’m only allowed out for school and – er – projects. You know? They even took away my camera and some books.”

 

“Hard to believe they’d go to such lengths just for breaking curfew.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but they did.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

“Right.”

 

Mary Jane began to take a few sips of her soda, although it seemed that she only did so to hide the fact that she was desperately trying not to laugh. He glared daggers at her, but she only winked in return, and suddenly he felt as if MJ had spent way too long around the likes of Sam and Ava. It wasn’t as if she meant it to get him into trouble, and it was nice to be able to share in a joke rather than be the butt of it, but he worried that Gwen would consider this just one more secret he wouldn’t share.

 

“It’s not personal,” said Peter.

 

“I know, I’m just teasing,” she replied. “I just can’t believe that you would get into trouble like that. I mean . . . you’re always the _good_ one! You get perfect grades and have the best behaviour . . . didn’t they make an exception this one time?”

 

“How could they? I guess when I’ve been so good, it just came as more of a shock. It’s not just you guys that I wasn’t allowed to see; Ava and Danny came around for a study-session, but my dad had Happy essentially kick them out and bar them entry. I haven’t seen Wade either, which has been driving me insane. He looked up to me, you know? I worry he might take a bad turn, because he might just see me as some dumb kid after the – er – incident, like someone not worth emulating.”

 

“You worry about some pretty deep things,” Harry interjected. “I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. You’re one of the school’s best students and a brilliant friend. I sometimes get the feeling that my father wishes you could have been his son, that’s how much he admires you, and he doesn’t admire anyone easily. I doubt this Wade fellow will see you too differently.”

 

“We really must meet this guy at some point,” MJ said. “You talk about Wade a lot!”

 

“I do not! Wade drives me insane and is always causing trouble and –”

 

_‘Seriously, Wade again?’_

 

Ava sat between Peter and Harry at the head of the table. He smiled at her as she adjusted her dress and put her tray upon the table; the look of sheer disgust she gave her food was enough to make MJ laugh and Harry smile. It was true that the meat looked pre-digested, whilst the vegetables were barely identifiable, but they had gotten used to it over the months at school and hardly thought anything of it any more. It seemed Ava still found it something of a shock.

 

She looked quite pretty actually; her hair was loose down her back, whilst her dress – although short – was quite modest and flattering, and he could see Gwen look at Ava with a small hint of jealousy. He felt lucky, in a way, to have a girlfriend that didn’t seem to mind that he was closer with Ava and MJ than he was anyone else, but at the same time he hated to see his girlfriend – the only girl he’d ever loved – feel so insecure when other girls were present around Peter. He wondered if that kind of jealousy was normal, but without any other relationships to compare it to then it was hard to say. He cricked his neck and looked around the table. Did Ava notice how tense everything was? Did she realise how close Gwen and Peter were to breaking up?

 

There was a long moment of an awkward silence, in which Peter realised he had never really mixed his two sets of friends. He tried to remember a time in his head when Ava’s group would mix with Gwen’s, but he couldn’t think of a single time, and suddenly the silence made sense all of a sudden. Ava obviously couldn’t wait to know how Fury’s favourite pupil could screw up so badly, but Gwen and Harry probably had no idea what to say to someone that they only ever really saw from a distance. He just hoped that she wouldn’t say something incriminating like –

 

“Dude, by Wade do you mean D-”

 

“ _Yes_! Yes, that’s whom I mean. That same Wade.”

 

“You’re so obsessed with that guy,” Ava said. “I’d be _really_ worried, if I were Gwen. I mean – when you think about it with some clinical detachment – you kind of live up to the stereotype of a gay guy. I can just picture your future now: break up with Gwen out of confusion, date some other hot babe to try and reassert your heterosexuality, and then give up to date someone like Wade or Sam or Harry. It’s so cliché.”

 

“Gee, thanks for your emotional support,” he muttered. It took him a few seconds to add: “I’d also thank you not to question my sexuality like that! I’m dating Gwen because I _love_ Gwen, it’s pretty disrespectful to imply that I’m just using her because I’m _confused_ of all things. Why is everyone so obsessed with what I think of Wade?”

 

“Well, he _does_ joke about dating you a lot. You also make lots of exceptions for him.”

 

“Not to mention you two have a lot of chemistry,” said MJ.

 

“You guys suck! You’re supposed to be my friends!”

 

“We are,” said MJ. “That’s why we tease you!”

 

Gwen chose that moment to stand up. There was a slight bulge to her bare arms, whilst her hands clenched onto the edges of her tray. Peter took a moment to appreciate her appearance, as her jeans clung to her perfectly and her body was shaped so well, but it was all ruined when she seemed so angry. The truth was that he had pictured a life with her, too, a life full of firsts and full of big events, but things just weren’t working out between them. It just wouldn’t work.

 

“I’m going to get some seconds,” said Gwen.

 

“I’ll join you,” Harry replied.

 

It was clear that Gwen was upset. He couldn’t blame her, because she was so close to losing her boyfriend and everything in her life was changing, then in comes Ava – a new transfer student and very close to Peter – who made jokes that reminded Gwen of all that she stood to lose. There was such sadness to Gwen’s eyes, but that sadness had been there for longer than he could bear to think about, ever since her father had died and everything had begun to change. He hated to see her so hurt.

 

Peter sighed and watched as Harry and Gwen went away to join the queue to get more food, which – judging from their mostly full plates – was a rather lame excuse to just get away. He could understand his girlfriend needing time alone to gather her thoughts, but it did hurt him a little that his friend would go with her. It was possible that Harry just wanted someone to talk to that was experiencing something similar to what he was going through, because clearly he and MJ were going through a rough patch, but then it would have been nice if he could just talk to Peter. It felt like he was being left out a lot lately, but then how could he blame them?

 

He sighed and took a large bite of his food. MJ understood when he hadn’t time for her due to his duties to the city, whilst Ava often worked with him to stop the bad guys, but – as far as Gwen and Harry were concerned – he was just being a bad friend lately and neglecting those that mattered. It wasn’t as though he had an excuse for the missed calls or lack of visits or cancelled dates . . . he felt as if he owed it to them to be honest, but then how would they understand? It was difficult to know what to do. He alienated them with the secrets, but he would alienate them with the truth.

 

“Your girlfriend can _not_ take a joke,” Ava said.

 

“Well, we’re going through a real rough patch,” Peter admitted. “Her mother wants her to go to boarding school in England . . . says a change of scenery might help in her grief over her father . . . I – I think Gwen’s in two minds. She wants me to give her a reason to stay. She wants me to trust her and tell her everything. I just can’t, you know? She _hates_ Spider-Man for his part in her father’s death. If I confess, she’ll hate me. If I stay quiet, she’ll leave me. What am I supposed to do?”

 

“It might be best to let her go,” replied Ava. “I mean, think about it: your identity is starting to get out and about, anyone that finds out could _easily_ use her to get to you, plus how can she not resent you just a little? She hates Spider-Man, right? She can’t separate him from you. You’re . . . you’re the same person! Not to mention what will happen if she goes public with the knowledge!”

 

“You’re being too harsh,” said MJ. “Gwen is a great girl! There’s no way that she would go to the press with something like that! I mean . . . okay . . . she _might_ leave Peter if she knew, but then she might not, right? Surely she has a right to make her own decision about this? It’s unfair to decide for her.”

 

“Please! You won’t be saying that when she ends up street-pizza!”

 

“Can we talk about something else?” Peter asked.

 

He stabbed hard at his food once again. In the distance he heard Flash let out a billowing laugh and heard some shoving, whilst not too far away Sam stood up and pulled a childish face at Pete, before he walked out of the hall. It was hard to believe that everyone could be so normal when his world felt like it was falling apart, but then that felt incredibly self-absorbed, because why shouldn’t the world carry on despite his pain? He felt a wave of guilt and let his head sag.

 

“Well, if it helps,” said MJ, “Harry and I are having a tough time, too.”

 

“You and Captain Popular? No way!” Ava exclaimed.

 

“Yes ‘way’. It’s just that Harry’s been under a lot of pressure. I never thought that his dad could be so insane about things, but it’s been an absolute nightmare for him lately. I think he’s beginning to feel unloved or like some sort of status symbol, like ‘look at my amazing son and see what great a parent I am’, so any time he’s less than perfect he feels like he’s shaming his family. He’s been so unstable lately.”

 

“So you’re considering breaking up, too?” Ava gave a low whistle. “That’s rough. You two always seemed like the perfect couple, but I guess you never really know what’s going on between closed doors. So what are you both going to do? Gwen probably needs a decision soon and it’s mean to string Harry along.”

 

“I know,” said MJ. “I just want to think it over a bit first. It’s a big choice to make.”

 

“What about you, Peter? Any decisions yet?”

 

Peter jumped a little. He hadn’t expected anyone to turn to him and ask his opinion, but now they had it left him a little unsure of himself. The truth was that he had no idea what to do; he didn’t want to lose Gwen, but he couldn’t tell her his secrets either. He could talk to MJ and Ava some more, but MJ had problems of her own and it made more sense to help her through that first, especially when she had always been such a good friend to him over the years. He gave a nervous smile and shrugged.

 

“I – er – will talk to Aunt May tomorrow. Get her opinion.”

 

“She doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man though, does she?” Ava asked.

 

“No,” Peter confessed. “I really cherish her thoughts though. Aunt May has the best advice and always seems to know just what to say. If I tell her in general terms, she won’t push for more details, but she will still be able to tell give me an honest opinion. I’m pretty sure my grounding doesn’t include family visits, so my parents should be fine with that. I hope so, at least.”

 

“That’s a really good idea, Peter,” said MJ. “I might even – ”

 

“Shush!” Ava hissed. “They’re coming back!”

 

Gwen looked at them as they suddenly became silent. It was somewhat suspicious the way they all found their food more interesting than anything else in the world, just as they refused to make eye contact with her or Harry, and it felt like the most awkward silence he had ever endured in his life. He felt her hand stroke his arm gently as she sat down, just as a reminder that she was there and wanted to be a part of his life, but he found he couldn’t return the gesture. He slumped down in his chair.

  
There seemed to be fewer people in the cafeteria, which probably meant that lunchtime would soon be over and classes were about to start. He thought briefly about whether his homework would be okay, as the past few days were filled with his parents lecturing him and setting new rules, and then he wondered what classes would even be like without Gwen around. What would it be like if she left? He could keep her here, it would just take two simple words: ‘please stay’. That was so much responsibility though; it was so much pressure for one person . . . what if she resented him for having prevented her from going abroad? 

 

“What were you guys talking about?” Gwen asked.

 

“Nothing really,” Ava answered.

 

Gwen looked around at them all and then gave a sigh, before she got up and collected her belongings. The food on her plate would stay untouched, just as the whole topic between them would carry on being unspoken, and in a matter of seconds she had already began to walk away from them and back to class. Ava gave a small scoff and stood up to shout across to Danny, who waited for her to run across to him so that they could walk to class together, and not long after Harry offered his arm to MJ to escort her to class too. Peter sat alone at the table until the bell rang.

 

 _Saved by the bell_ , he thought.

 

 


	6. Chapter 5

# Part One: Chapter Five

 

“So – er – what do you think?”

 

Peter looked to his aunt expectantly. It was clear that she was still absorbing everything he said, so that – as she walked quite calmly and elegantly – she raised a finger to her lips as if in thought. He smiled at that little quirk; it reminded him of the memories of his birth mother, of how she would touch her lip too whenever she concentrated on a really serious problem, and he could see that May was looking ahead whilst not really looking at anything at all. May was giving it consideration.

 

It was perhaps the best time that he could have brought up the subject of Gwen, because the weather was ever so nice out and they had the whole day together. He would walk his aunt to yoga in the park, wait around for the hour to finish, and then head with her to a small café somewhere to eat. There was a nice breeze about that kept him cool on the rather warm day, and as they walked he couldn’t help but lift up his head and smile as it rustled his hair and short-sleeved shirt, although his aunt would occasionally look to him and giggle at his rather childlike actions. The streets were pretty empty though in the suburban area, so it wasn’t _too_ embarrassing.

 

“I think you’re really enjoying your moment of freedom,” she said.

 

“Hey, it’s the first time I’ve felt fresh air in weeks!” Peter raised his hands to clasp behind his neck. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for ages now, but Dad wouldn’t let me out of the house at all . . . ‘forbidden is forbidden’ . . . I’m glad you came around each day to see me, but it’s not the same, you know? I like being able to talk to you without my parents around and able to go places.”

 

“It’s lovely being able to spend time with you, too. I missed my nephew! You know what else I missed? _Video games_! It’s awful having a stack of two-player games and not being able to kick a certain someone’s butt, and I bought the latest ones just for you! Speaking of which, are you sure _this_ is how you want to spend your birthday?”

 

“Positive. It’d be awkward spending it with Gwen and there’s so much to talk about.”

 

“Still, hanging out with your old aunt? You are an odd one, Peter!”

 

“It beats a lot of alternatives,” Peter said with a laugh.

 

He looked to her and saw her smile back. It was always so relaxing with her and she was always so easy to talk to, so that sometimes – although very rarely – he wondered what it would have been like had he lived with her instead. He had heard Wade mumble a few times about ‘continuities’, which sounded a lot like the theory of parallel universes or the concept of a multiverse in his favourite comics, and it was reassuring in a way to think that there could be a universe out there in which he lived with his aunt and uncle. He wondered what life would have been like.

  
They walked on a little bit more, whilst the sun became particularly strong and caused Peter to lift up his hand to see straight ahead. The road was pretty long, but he could see the park not too far away, and to his right one lone car drove down towards him at a ridiculously slow speed. It was a little depressing how uniform all the houses looked, each one surprisingly white with the occasional pale and pastel shades of colour, and he wondered where the individuality disappeared.

 

May looked to him with a hard stare. Peter blanched a little and felt as if he were being analysed, which caused him to feel suddenly very self-conscious. He looked down to see his open shirt and t-shirt were stain-free, whilst his jeans seemed fashionable enough, and he couldn’t remember having eaten to get anything on his face. May eventually gave a smile and a small hum, before she put her finger to her lips again in thought. It was amazing how young she could appear in moments like those, even though he knew that her health was declining and her joints would sometimes ache at night, and yet there she was carefully considering everything that he had told her. May was a mass of contradictions.

 

“Are you sure you’re not just confused?” May asked.

 

“No,” Peter answered. “Ava wouldn’t stop teasing me yesterday, and MJ understood that I wanted to spend a quiet birthday with just my family. I think that Gwen was a little – _wait_ . . . hold up! You – you mean confused about my _sexuality_? T-that’s so not why I’m thinking about breaking up with Gwen! We just – we just wouldn’t be able to make long-distance work and there is so much that I can’t tell her –”

 

“Uh-huh? You have a secret you can’t tell her?”

 

“ _Not like that_! It’s just that I –”

 

_‘Petey! Hey, Petey!’_

“Oh no . . .”

 

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. He heard his aunt let out a murmur of surprise, but he automatically dropped his head into his hands to prevent himself from seeing exactly how she reacted to this turn of events. It was hard not to miss the times when his secret identity was just that: _secret_. He used to be able to walk past Wade on the subway or the street and the older man wouldn’t even notice him, but now he would have to contend with these kinds of occurrences.

 

He let out a low groan and hunched his back, whilst May stood next to him with a soft laugh and looked behind them. It was a few seconds later when he heard the patter of footsteps behind him, followed by the feeling of a massive weight upon his back, so that he almost toppled over with the sudden pressure. He choked a little and clawed at the two strong arms around his neck, whilst he stumbled forward a few feet and felt his body nearly bent in two. There was a loud laugh right in his ear. He felt himself deafened for a moment, before his aunt let out a cough for attention. Wade let go and took a step back, although he did slap Peter hard on his back.

 

“I haven’t seen you since the incident, Petey!” Wade called.

 

“Oh, it’s been years since I heard you called that,” said May with a smile. “Your mother used to always call you that growing up, but since she passed away it’s only ever been ‘Peter’. I thought you were too grown up for ‘Petey’ anymore.”

 

“Nah, you’re never too grown up for a pet-name! Hey, I saw in the papers that it was your birthday today! I stopped by Stark Tower to see you, but this guard told me that I wasn’t allowed in, so I tried to break in – it seemed easy enough – only there was this security feature I hadn’t accounted for . . . nearly got caught by Stark himself! That would have been so awesome though! He looks so cool in his suit. Do you think he’d wear it to escort me out the building?

 

“Anyway, I missed you, buddy! I was out and about last night and found this most _awesome_ Mexican restaurant, and it was like ‘you know who would like this? My pal, Petey’! Only then Yellow reminded me that you probably wouldn’t want to hang out now, but then White said that you might as nothing really changed all that much! You weren’t around though, baby boy! I wanted to show you, but I couldn’t find you! Word on the street is that you’re grounded, but how can a little hero like you get grounded? Say, you’d _love_ the food there! Well, maybe not . . . my legs went numb; I was in the bathroom for so long! That’s a good sign, right?”

 

“Peter, sweetie? Are you going to introduce me at all to your new friend?”

 

“Oh, yeah . . . sure . . . of course.”

 

Peter rubbed at his throat. It was a gentle touch and almost like a massage, but Wade had _really_ hurt him by grabbing onto him so tightly. He gave a heavy sigh and turned to look at both his aunt and friend, although his friend hadn’t even noticed the presence of the much older woman in the least, instead he was completely absorbed with staring at Peter quite intently. It made sense. Wade had never known Spider-Man’s secret identity before the incident a few days back, but now he did know he had probably spent the past few days looking for _Peter_ as well as Spider-Man.

 

“Aunt May, this is . . . Wade Wilson. Wade, this is Aunt May.”

 

“Oh – er – this is your aunt?”

 

The tone of Wade’s voice took him by surprise. He was so used to the hyperactive ramblings – and the insane threats – that this kind of uncertainty was alien to him, especially when ‘the mercenary with the mouth’ was never at a loss for words. It wasn’t like Wade to show any vulnerability at all, least of all when around Peter of all people . . . maybe that was the problem? He spent so long around Spider-Man that maybe he now felt self-conscious around the boy behind the mask?

 

Peter looked at him and saw that Wade had suddenly withdrew his hands into the sleeves of his red hooded-top, which was odd when he had been sure he felt those calloused hands about his upper arms only a few minutes previous. There was a hole in each sleeve, intentionally there it seemed, that Wade had used to hook a thumb through each, whilst he had clenched his hands to keep them hidden. He kept his head down and refused to look up. He wore a black baseball cap underneath his hood, which kept his face hidden almost completely, and Peter felt annoyed by that. He wanted to see Wade. Peter sighed and tried to ignore how some parts of Wade’s top were redder than others, and he hoped the man wasn’t bleeding at all.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Wade mumbled.

 

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Wade,” she said kindly. “It’s such a lovely day out! I hope you’re not too warm? I’ve seen some of Peter’s friends tie their sweaters around their waists, which might be an idea, but – of course – if you’re quite cold then maybe you’d be more comfortable as you are. I always feel a bit chilly without something to cover my arms with, so I certainly don’t blame you!”

 

“Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

 

It looked that May was genuinely worried. Peter could see it in the way that her eyes narrowed just slightly, whilst her smile appeared forced and broken, and he noticed that she never broke eye contact with where Wade’s eyes should be, even though there was no real way for her to see them. It took him longer than it should to realise that she had probably noticed his scars and markings, but – more so – she had striven to let him know without words that she was comfortable in his presence. He now had an option open to him, but without pressure to act in a way he wasn’t comfortable with and without being forced to refuse a direct suggestion. It was kind of May.

 

“You look a little older than my nephew,” said May gently.

 

“I – I am,” replied Wade. “Sorry about that?”

 

“No, no! Peter seems to know most of his friends from school, so I was just a little curious how you both met. If I had to guess, I’d say that you were in your mid-thirties? You’re in your prime of life, really! I hope our Peter isn’t annoying you.” She gave a little wink and smiled. “I know when I was your age, I would have much preferred the company of people my own age.”

 

“Aunt May!” Peter whined. “Wade isn’t – he’s not -! Okay, he’s a little older, but you don’t need to be worried! I met him a while back on a project; I take photos for the _Bugle_ , whilst Wade – he . . . he’s kind of in the same field. We worked together a handful of times and we get on well. That’s all.”

 

“Oh, that’s nice! So you’re acting as a mentor for our Peter?”

 

“I – that is . . . Peter is more my mentor?”

 

Peter dropped his head. It was hard not to be embarrassed, because – as far as his aunt was concerned – this was a grown man that was hanging around a teenage boy, and that was evidently was a cause of concern in itself, but then this _same_ man acted as if he had the mental age of someone far younger. Wade was incredibly moral in some respects; he would never hurt a minor or take advantage of one, but he had forgotten to reassure her obvious worries and let Peter take over the role of ‘adult’ instead.

 

It also embarrassed him to hear that Wade thought of _him_ as the role model, because Peter had never considered himself worthy of that level of emulation. He had tried to be a good person, so that Wade would see what responsibility meant, but it was a different thing entirelyto hear those words come directly from the other man’s mouth. It was different to _know_ that Wade looked up to him. He felt a little overwhelmed by the responsibility he wanted to show, because it felt as if his friend now depended on him to show him the way and to support him, and likewise he felt closer to Wade than he had to anyone else. No one else had ever respected him so much.

 

He looked up again with a long groan of reluctance, determined to put his aunt’s mind to rest and to do right by his friend, but it was then he caught sight of how Wade stood hunched over with his hands and face still out of sight. Wade couldn’t be insecure, could he? This was the same man that had shot down his father’s accusations with a smile and moon-walked out of the room and onto the roof, but now he seemed terrified to say so much as a single word. Wade was usually so comfortable showing his face before Spider-Man; could it be that he trusted Peter, but not May?

 

“It’s not like you to hide,” said Peter.

 

“My left eye is blurry,” muttered Wade. “I didn’t see you with your aunt.”

 

“Oh, er, it’s quite bad today, huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t think and I -! My aunt doesn’t mind at all, she’s pretty cool, honestly! I mean it’s okay to feel self-conscious – _not that you have anything to feel self-conscious about_ -! I just – er – does it hurt? Is there anything I can do to help? Other than shutting up right now, that is?”

 

“What my nephew is _trying_ to say,” said May, “is that you have no need to feel self-conscious around me. _Seriously,_ Peter, you draw more attention to the poor boy than need be! Now, why don’t you be polite and ask him to join us?”

 

“That’s okay, ma’am,” replied Wade. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

 

“No, I insist! Peter could use the company.”

 

Peter smiled and scratched his neck nervously. The truth was that he really could use the company, because he usually just grabbed a bite to eat and waited around for his aunt to finish with not much to do. Wade stared so adamantly at the pavement, however, as if he could somehow glare holes into it and let the earth swallow him whole, and he scratched his leg with his foot in a rather telling gesture. It broke Peter’s heart to see his friend look so despondent.

 

He had never before considered the older man to be so shy about his appearance, but he supposed it only made sense when he kept his mask on for just about _everything_. It seemed a shame when Wade was otherwise so confident and full of life. It was painful to think that something so beyond his control could cause him such intense suffering, especially when it hadn’t exactly made Wade a monster, at least as far as Peter could remember from the times when Wade wouldn’t hide his face. Wade had a strong jaw-line and generally well-shaped features, plus it was obvious that he took excellent care of his body, and why should his looks define how he thought of himself?

 

“You wouldn’t embarrass us,” said Peter.

 

He smiled nervously and felt himself blush a little, suddenly very aware that both his aunt and Wade were watching him. It was easy to ignore his aunt’s stare, because he knew that she was both worried and trying to understand him better, but Wade was different. He knew that the other man watched him surreptitiously from beneath the brim of his hat, either waiting for validation or rejection, and he felt an intense rush of responsibility that he wasn’t ready to hold. Peter reached out. He was unsure whether to touch Wade without permission or not, so instead he let his hand hang in the air.

 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you in the past,” Peter continued. “It’s a shame when you hide your eyes like that, you know? They’re actually your best feature. Well, actually, I guess your best feature is when you smile . . . I hate seeing you sad.”

 

Peter twitched his fingers and realised how he must have looked. He sighed and decided to let his hand finally rest on Wade’s shoulder, hoping – in his moment of shy insecurity – that he wouldn’t mind the presumption of physical touch. It felt far too intimate to touch the other man’s face, but then to touch his shoulder felt . . . wet. He bit his lip and hoped Wade was okay. It must have been that one of the sores on his shoulder was weeping, but if he were hurt then he’d tell Peter, wouldn’t he?

 

“Aunt May’s yoga can go on for up to an hour, so we’d have time to go to that restaurant you mentioned, if you wanted to? My treat? I – I’m not grounded anymore and it _is_ my birthday, so I don’t think my parents would mind.”

 

“Nah, it’s cool. You enjoy your birthday out!”

 

“Are you sure? I mean I’d like to . . .”

 

There was an awkward silence. He noticed that May looked away in the direction of the park, as if she were trying to give them the illusion of privacy, and Wade still wouldn’t look up at him in the least. The cool breeze blew by and stole a sigh from Peter as he let his hand slide down his friend’s arm, before he gave a soft blush as their hands touched for a moment. Wade made no sign that he had even felt or noticed the lingering touch, but Peter couldn’t help to feel self-conscious anyway. He hoped his aunt hadn’t noticed. The teasing had been bad enough as it was, without that too!

 

“It _is_ my birthday,” Peter said with a smile. “You could always treat me –”

 

“Hey, Miss May? Could I borrow Petey for a second?”

 

“Hmm?” May turned to him. “Of course.”

 

Wade grabbed a hold of Peter’s wrist. It felt weird when Wade kept his hand in his sleeve, so that he felt enveloped by soft material, and yet his grip was pretty vice-like and far stronger than Peter had anticipated. Peter found himself surprised as he was quickly dragged down the street; they were headed back where they had originally come from, which was strange when the park was in the other direction. He briefly wondered if Wade was taking them to the Mexican restaurant he mentioned.

 

They stopped quite far down the street, enough that he could still see May and yet she was too far away to even shout clearly. The worry he felt quickly faded when he realised that Wade obviously wanted to speak privately, although that realisation alone brought the worry back to the forefront, because Wade had never been the secretive sort as far as Peter knew. Heck, even when he formed a ‘secret’ plan, he would usually call through a door or try to tell Peter in advance what it was, but now – without any reason Peter could discern – he was acting shy and private. It was nice that that the older man could trust in him, but it was still worrying. He wanted to know if Wade was okay. He hoped he hadn’t hurt or offended him.

 

There were a couple of teenagers not far away in one of the yards. A girl sat on the porch and watched the people roll by in the cars, perhaps waiting for a parent or guardian to get back, or – judging from the way her boyfriend stood and smoked – perhaps to serve as a lookout so he wouldn’t get into trouble. They watched Wade and Peter quite obviously from where they stood, but that only made it stranger that Wade would pick _this_ spot to talk. They would be overheard quite easily. It was then that Wade looked up at Peter.

 

He couldn’t help but blush.

 

It was undeniable that Wade – in costume – held a remarkable body, one that a person would have to be blind not to notice, but Peter had almost forgotten it existed underneath such baggy jeans and the oversized top. He had almost forgotten the colour of those brown eyes, hidden underneath the baseball cap, just as he had nearly forgotten what a dangerous man was hidden beneath the mask of insanity and hyperactivity. Wade hid everything about himself. He hid his body, his motives, even his personality, but this . . . this suddenly felt real.

 

“I’m not joining you, Petey,” said Wade.

 

“Why? You used to sit and eat with me all the time before! Is this – is this just because you now know who I really am? Is this because you think I’m just a kid now? It ever bothered me how you look before, so why would it bother me now?”

 

“You being a kid doesn’t bother me,” snapped Wade. “I got all kinds of friends . . . sort of . . . _slaves more like_ . . .  she chose to stay . . . hey, I think he can hear us! Damn it, I hate this narration mode! It never works! Okay, _look_ , I’m cool hanging out with you at night when no one can see us, but I’m not going to _humiliate_ you on your birthday, all right? Least of all, your aunt . . . she hasn’t done anything to me.”

 

“You . . . you’re serious? Your looks really bother you this much?”

 

“Damn! You really are just a kid! Okay, watch this.”

 

Wade gave a half-broken smile. It was clear the cancer was bad today; his face looked barely recognisable, like a villain from an old slasher movie, although Peter struggled to remember the name and only knew he was some sort of burn victim. The strange thing was that there was still a handsome man underneath it all, but the problem was that most people probably didn’t look further than the disfigurement. Peter suddenly felt an intense guilt for ever having mocked Wade for his illness.

 

It was then he walked over to the white-picket fence, before he leaned on it with both his hands now showing. Peter had to bit his lip not to laugh at such a cliché, especially when the two teenagers looked like they went to his school and he knew them as fulfilling a particular stereotype in themselves, and he felt grateful that he had the friends he did and the life he had. Wade gave a massive wave at them and seemed adamant on getting their attention. He got it. He lifted the brim of his hat in pretence of getting a better look at them, which – in turn – got them a better look at him. The girl looked away as if she couldn’t see him, but the boy curled his lip a little.

 

_‘Yo! Got the time?’_

_‘Twenty-past ten, pal.’_

_‘Thanks!’_

Wade turned around and walked back to Peter, but Peter could only concentrate on the way the boy tried not to laugh and gestured to Wade as if the older man were some sort of anomaly. It hurt Peter to see someone act in such a way, because he had always assumed people to be much more understanding in this day and age, and at times like those he always wondered why he bothered to try and save people. It was cruel to mock a man for an illness. It was cruel to mock him at all.

 

_‘Freak.’_

 

It was impossible to miss the look of pain Wade wore. The man at once hid his hands back into his sleeve and pulled down the brim of his hat to hide his face, and at once Peter felt his hands clench into tight fists. He felt so angry! How had he not noticed the way that Deadpool patrolled mostly at night? How had he failed to notice the way he only seemed to feel comfortable in his mask? How had he not noticed the way that he would always hide into himself when denied his mask? Wade shouldn’t have been made to feel that way. Peter wanted to know why he felt that way. He wanted to know who had done this and he wanted to take it all back. He wanted to make it better.

 

“Wouldn’t want the freak to put you off your food,” Wade laughed.

 

“Don’t! Don’t say that, Wade! You’re not a freak!”

 

“Petey, you have to –”

 

“ _No_ , Wade.”

 

Peter reached out to touch Wade. He didn’t expect the older man to let him, but perhaps he had moved too quickly for Wade to have time to react. He let his hand rest firmly upon Wade’s cheek, where the skin felt rough and warm, and yet he could feel a wetness there that felt less than enjoyable. It was difficult to ignore the way he could feel something slick and sleek between his fingers, just as he could not ignore the way it began to drip through the cracks, but Wade didn’t seem to notice at all.

 

It was a rather long moment and a seemingly intimate gesture, but when Wade tried to pull away he merely pulled back. He held his friend’s face in place. Those brown eyes looked back at him with clear confusion and a hint of fear, whilst a flash of anger shone briefly behind those other mixed emotions, and yet Peter held on. He had sworn to protect everyone, which included Wade, whilst the older man seemed to have sworn an oath to himself to do whatever it took to end his pain . . . if Peter could just convince him that he was worth something, that he could find happiness in helping others, or even just to take pride in himself -! He wanted to help Wade. He didn’t want to lose him again to the mercenary lifestyle or to become his rival.

 

“You’re not a freak to me,” said Peter.

 

“ _Now_ you sound like a kid.”

 

Wade pulled his hand away with a smile. It only took a second for Peter to drop it to his side and turn his hand so that his palm was hidden out of sight, desperate so that Wade wouldn’t see what mess upon it or know the damage that had been done. It would destroy his last ounce of self-esteem should he know that he had oozed all over what was probably his only real friend, and Peter refused to subject him to that kind of embarrassment when he was already so sensitive. 

 

“See you later, baby boy!”

 

He watched as Wade walked away with a half-felt wave, but there was a sense of emptiness that came with watching him walk away. There was no way that he could leave things as they were; he would have to find him later tonight, whilst on patrol, and sit and talk to him properly. It took him a long moment to realise that he was still standing there long after Wade had gone, simply watching where he had turned a corner as if he would somehow reappear and come back. Peter gave a sigh.

 

May stood there watching him as he turned around and began a slow walk back to her, but as he walked he lifted his hand and looked down at it with a frown. It was a pretty bad mess; he could see where one of the wounds must have opened and bled, because there were streaks of blood across his palm and smeared over his fingertips, whilst meanwhile yellowish spots of puss littered his skin. He hated himself for being so selfish as to worry about his hand, especially when it must have hurt Wade a lot for such a mess to be left behind. It really was a bad day for his friend.

 

It was as if time moved without him realising. He didn’t realise that he had stopped until he realised that he was standing in his aunt’s shadow, cradling his hand as if a seriously burnt. May stood with her hands on her hips and glared down at him in a rather embarrassing way, so that he assumed she was annoyed that he had such an older friend and one so clearly unstable. He made to apologise when she spoke:

 

“Peter, you should be ashamed!”

 

“Huh? Why? If it’s about Wade’s age then –”

 

“No, your hand! You’re looking at it as if it’s contagious!”

 

He gave a sad smile and then showed her his palm. It opened up before her to show all the residual bodily liquid from the wounds on Wade’s face, and at once understanding dawned upon her and she looked down at him with absolute pity. May gave a sigh and reached into her pocket to pull out a pale handkerchief, which she used to carefully mop up Peter’s hand. It made him feel guilty to ruin her handkerchief like that, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. She seemed sad, if anything.

 

“That poor man,” she whispered. “What happened to him?”

 

“He – er – was in an accident,” he answered. “It was a fire . . . I think . . . he – he’s all better now, but I guess he has some bad days and the wounds have reopened a bit. I didn’t realise he was so self-conscious though. I know he prefers to keep his face hidden at all times, but I thought – you know – it was just a quirk . . . he’s showed me his face before and he’s eaten around me, too. I’ve never seen this side to him.”

 

“Well, I think it’s sweet that he obviously feels comfortable around you, otherwise he wouldn’t trust you enough to show you. It must be difficult for him, Peter. He knows that you won’t mock him, but he must worry ever so much about what other people think. It’s no wonder he’s so attached to you.”

 

“Huh? What do you mean by that?”

 

May laughed a little behind her hand. She nodded towards the park and began a slow walk in the general direction, whilst Peter walked beside her at a leisurely pace. The nice weather suddenly didn’t feel as nice as it once had, because all he could think about was how awfully hot Wade must have felt in all those layers, and he wondered where the older man had gone to after their conversation. He must have apartments in a fair few cities, judging by how he moved about, but did he have one in New York? It was then May interrupted his thoughts:

 

“Well, I was a little worried at first,” she said. “He is so much older than you, Peter, and it is a little unusual for a grown man to hang around with a high-school student. I’m glad that I was able to speak to him a little; it seems that he doesn’t have any hidden agenda, rather that he’s a legitimate man who is just excited to finally have a friend.  He’s likely scared of losing someone he can finally trust.

 

“I imagine he clings to you so much, because he probably doesn’t know how to act around people and is excited to have someone like you in his life. It seems that you two share more than just a few interests; he has met someone that treats him like a _human_ , which is hard to come by even in this century. You didn’t look at him with pity or fear, you just looked at _him_. You touched him without fear and you were kind enough not to make a big deal of the mess on your hand, and I bet he sees that kindness in you too, even if _you_ don’t. It’s no wonder he said that you’re his mentor.”

 

“He’s not usually like that though,” Peter said sadly. “He’s usually . . . _annoying_. I mean I’ve never seen this side of him before! It’s like – it’s like there are two people in there, but I’m not sure which is real. There’s a part of me that thinks the reason why he acts so confident usually is because he’s wearing a mask, and that if people hate the mask then they aren’t hating _him_ , like it’s a – a –”

 

“A self-defence mechanism?”

 

“Yeah . . .”

 

Peter looked down at his hand as they walked. He could still feel the blood on his skin, even though it looked so spotless now. It was hard to think that Wade could be in pain both physically _and_ emotionally, but he remembered hearing from MJ long ago about those that smile the brightest will cry the hardest. He couldn’t picture Wade having any issues with himself, especially when he was usually so arrogant and confident, but this man was so different, barely recognisable. He worried for Wade.

 

“Is that how he really is?” Peter asked. “He seemed so sad.”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. It really is a shame.”

 

“Yeah, it really is . . ."


	7. Chapter 6

# Part One: Chapter Six

****

Peter swung in his chair.

 

It was comfortable really; he sometimes envied his peers for their more simplistic lifestyles, as he wished for the anonymity that came with it, but when he sat down in his custom-made chair then all those thoughts went out the window. He loved his room and its luxuries. He loved the long table to his far right, which acted as his personal workshop. The computer panel above was tuned to a music station, although he couldn’t quite remember its name, and the music played low in the background.

 

He gave a sigh and dropped the puzzle in his hands onto the desk, where it fell next to a small newspaper cutting of Deadpool. The man on the photo seemed to stare at him through the paper, even if that wasn’t possible in the least, and Peter – with a scowl – lifted an old taco paper to cover it. That didn’t help as much as he had thought, because the paper had come from the first ever fast-food that Deadpool had bought for him, and at first it had been laziness that stopped him from disposing of it, but now it had a weird sort of sentimental value. He still had a pressed flower from MJ as a child, just as he kept the book with the broken spine from Harry, but . . .

 

“I just can’t stop thinking about him,” said Peter.

 

“That isn’t really what a girl wants to hear,” Gwen snapped.

 

Peter looked down abashedly at the floor. He swung a little from side to side and played with his hands in his lap, before he gave a long sigh of defeat and slid across the room to the desk underneath the main window. It was a little awkward, because he had to pause midway to lift the chair up a step to that section of the room, whilst Gwen watched him the whole time with a curious gaze. Eventually he found a comfortable spot to sit by his computer.

 

There was a subtle noise of footsteps outside of his room, which were made more clear by the fact that his bedroom door was wide open and the music was very low, but he knew without a doubt that was his mother’s way of making sure nothing untoward was happening in his room. _Tony,_ however, probably listened in through J.A.R.V.I.S. in his lab downstairs, just _waiting_ for the moment that the talking stopped and the lip smacking began. It made for a very tense discussion. Peter found it hard to be natural when he waited anxiously for his father to turn on the fire-sprinklers, which he had done once when Peter had shared his first kiss with MJ. That had been the singular most humiliating moment of his life.

 

Gwen sat comfortably on the edge of his bed, which was strictly forbidden and yet his parents had let it slip so far, although probably because the invasion on his privacy prevented him from misbehaving in the slightest. She looked beautiful. He kind of wished that they had met at her house, because at least then they would be slightly less supervised and maybe able to distract themselves with talk other than the serious, but he knew that this conversation was a long time coming. Gwen brushed a lock of hair from her face and blew out a long breath.

 

“Can we please stop talking about Wade?”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “It was just so weird, though! I tried to talk to him about it, but when I finally caught up with him that night he just -! I don’t know! He just pretended as if it had never happened . . . turned it all into a joke . . . he pretended to be serious at first, but then he began to fake cry and said he was crazy, before he broke out into a massive rendition of that song . . . _‘Crazy’._ ”

 

“Really? That old Britney Spears piece?”

 

“No, it’s by a much older singer, I think. How does it go? Er, I think it’s something like . . . _crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely, I’m crazy for trying, crazy for –_ crazy for singing this song! Oh God, his insanity is contagious! I can’t believe it!”

 

“ _Look,_ Peter,” interrupted Gwen. “I love you. I really love you! I’ve spoken to my mom and she says that it’s okay for me to stay, but she wants me to get the best education and to have a change of pace. I can stay, but only if _I_ want to stay. I just – I just don’t know if I _do_ , Peter. Please, just give me a reason! Tell me that you want me to stay here or ask me not to leave! Just – just don’t tell me that it’s over . . .”

 

“Gwen, I can’t –”

 

He looked to her, but this time _truly_ looked at her. It was clear that she loved him just as much as he loved her, perhaps even more so than even that, and across her eyes he saw a thin veil of unshed tears. He could see the faint smile to her lips, one that was so hopeful and pleading, and he could see the way that she let her hands fall so lifelessly on her lap with shoulders slumped forward. There was no hiding it: she was hurt and he was the one that had hurt her. He had failed her.

 

It was amazing how different that she was to Wade or to MJ, but that just made this emotional display all the harder to understand. He knew that Wade would always try to hide his real feelings, just as MJ would calmly explain what any given issue was and how to fix it, but with Gwen . . . she would wear her heart on her sleeve, but then leave it to Peter to decide what to do next. There wasn’t any deflection or pretending to be okay, just as there wasn’t a lengthy lecture on how he could make it all better, but instead just a dark _silence_. It was as if she just expected him to _know_. He knew with so many of his friends, but not her . . . she was a mystery to him.

 

“I told you, I don’t –”

 

“All you have to do is to _talk_ to me! You keep saying that this is _my_ choice, but then you act surprised when I tell you ‘no’! What’s so confusing about this? Why do you keep acting like the victim? This is _your_ choice, Peter. If you ask me to stay then I’ll stay, but if you tell me to leave then I’ll leave . . . why can’t you just give me a straight answer? I just want to know where I stand. What do I mean to you?”

 

“You – you can’t use this as some test of how I feel! I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, Gwen, I swear! I just can’t be the one to make this decision for you! You want me to tell you everything, but I can’t . . . I just can’t.”

 

“I want to stay with someone that _loves_ me. If you love me, I’ll stay.”

 

“I do love you! I keep telling you that I love you!”

 

“If you love me, you’d _trust_ me.”

 

He winced at that. It was hard to accept what she said, but the fact was that she was right about one key point: he couldn’t trust her. The fact was that his secret identity was a part of him, so that Spider-Man defined him as much as he defined Spider-Man, so for her to hate the one would mean that she would hate the other. He could trust a lot of people . . . MJ could balance the two pretty well, Ava judged both identities by the same strict standards, and Wade appeared to adore both . . . Gwen was different.

 

“If I tell you the truth,” he said. “You’d leave me.”

 

“I’m going to leave anyway. What do you have to lose, Peter?”

 

 _Everything_. . .

 

The thought struck him pretty hard. It was must have been lingering beneath the surface for some time, for he certainly couldn’t remember ever having resented her before this point in time. He forced himself to ponder what life could be if she stayed. They could study side-by-side in college, just as they could share many dates and many firsts, and maybe one day they would get married or even have children, but those things felt so . . . abstract. He couldn’t really picture it properly.

 

It was as if those thoughts – the picture of a perfect life – were the thoughts of someone else, like watching people living their lives through a television screen, and he just couldn’t imagine those things happening to _him_. He just couldn’t emotionally connect to any of those ideas or images, even though he knew that he _should_. It may have been different had he grown up with his aunt instead, or if he had maybe never met Ava and the others, or even if he had met Wade at a later age . . . he couldn’t change his life though or his circumstances. He _loved_ Gwen, but when he thought about all the drama of their relationship . . . he struggled to picture a future.

 

He had to let her go, which would be the kindest thing to do. There was a chance she might stay should he trust her, but he just _couldn’t_ trust her and – most of all – he wasn’t sure that he _wanted_ to trust her. He wondered if whether he loved her, but just wasn’t _in love_ with her. How could he tell the difference? There was also the devastating fear that she could be used against him, because if he were in love with her then she was a weapon to be used against Spider-Man . . . he couldn’t be responsible for the death of anyone else. He couldn’t lose her that way!

 

“I – I don’t think I _want_ to tell you,” Peter confessed.

 

“I – okay . . . wow,” she babbled.

 

Gwen raised a hand to her face. It was heart-breaking to see her act that way; the way her finger ran up her nose –and her outstretched fingers covered her face – made it seem as if she were trying to hide her pain from him. He heard the shuddered and broken breath, just as he saw the tremble to her lip and the way she swallowed continuously, as if to hold back the pain. The pain was clear as day, so that she was moments away from crying, and he had caused that pain. _He_ had hurt her.

 

“Is – is it someone else?”

 

“N-no!” Peter raised his hand in defence. “I – I mean, I don’t think so? It’s a lot of things all combined, not really just one thing . . . I just think it would be better for you abroad. We’ve broken up a few times already, Gwen. What if you decide to stay and it doesn’t work out? I love you, I do, but I don’t know if I’m _in_ love with you . . . things have been so confusing lately, you know? Like . . . it’s so much _easier_ with the others and should it really be this hard?”

 

“Easier with who, Peter? Tell me that! You’ve been spending so much time with Mary Jane and Ava lately . . . oh God, is it them? Are you seeing one of them? I know Ava kept joking about you and Wade . . . you talk about him so much and you’re always with him in the evenings . . . never me. Is that it? Are you gay? I just – I just need to know _why_ , Peter!”

 

“I am _not_ seeing anyone, least of all _Wade_! I’m still a minor, Gwen!”

 

“So what? He’s waiting for you to –”

 

“No! Just _no_!”

 

Peter raised his hands to his temples. He massaged them and tried to stay calm, but the accusation that he could have been _cheating_ on her really stung. It was true that he perhaps deserved that kind of distrust and cold words, because he had been hiding so much from her and spending his time more with his friends, but he took his duties and responsibilities seriously. It was as if she didn’t know him at all. He would have broken up with her far sooner had it been someone else, just so that he wouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of cheating. There wasn’t anyone else, just Spider-Man.

 

“It’s not Mary Jane,” said Peter slowly. “It’s not Ava and it’s not Wade.”

 

“Then who is it, Peter? Just tell me.”

 

“It’s _me_ , okay? It’s me!”

 

He turned and looked at his desk drawers. It wasn’t visible from the outside, but he knew that inside that dark space sat his Spider-Man outfit. There was a part of him that was tempted to unlock it, to throw it at Gwen’s feet and confess everything, but he knew that it had to remain secret . . . _his_ secret. He didn’t want to risk hurting her, but he also wasn’t sure that he _wanted_ to tell her. It just didn’t feel _right_ to tell her, but why did it feel so right with MJ and Wade?

 

Gwen was evidently hurt by his words. There was a small tear that fell from her eye, one that showed all the pain and betrayal that she clearly felt, and he felt his stomach wrench in guilt at the sight of it. He clenched his hands by his side and lowered his head to stare at the floor beneath his feet, but he could hear her heavy and forced breathing even through his distracted state. The silence between them was awkward. It lasted long enough that he began to wonder if there could be any good way to end it, especially when he felt as if his heart were in a vice, and yet he knew that he couldn’t keep her in suspense. He couldn’t hurt her any more than he had.

 

“I just – I just don’t think I’m in love with you,” he confessed.

 

“S-so what? This is it? We’re just breaking up?” Gwen raised a shaking finger to dab at the falling tears. “Think long and hard about this, Peter! Once I’m gone, I’m gone! I – I won’t be coming back for you or for anyone . . . this – this will be it.”

 

“This just isn’t going to work! I – I don’t know how love is supposed to feel, but I don’t think it’s meant to be this hard . . . I can’t trust you to tell you everything, because I know you’ll hate me for it, but even if you didn’t I just find it too hard. I’m not saying that there’s any such thing as the perfect relationship, but – I don’t know, Gwen! We broke up a few times already, plus there’s so much drama between us!

 

“You deserve better than me! You deserve someone that worships the ground you walk on, that will go to any lengths just to see you smile, and would put your happiness before absolutely anything! I’m not good for you! I – I’ve been lying for so long about so many things, just like I can’t trust you and feel like I’d only be a burden even if I could. It feels like our relationship is completely imbalanced. You’re either flirting with my friends to make me jealous, or I’m spending nights with Wade and lying to you even when I could just tell you the truth! I’m – I’m _bad_ for you, Gwen!”

 

He drew in a deep breath. It felt as if everything had rushed out in one single go, as if he had been holding it in for longer than he had ever thought possible, and – now he had managed to express his feelings for Gwen – there suddenly felt a rush of other feelings and questions arising. There was a confusing moment when he felt himself reassessing all his friendships and interests and even himself, but it was only a fleeting sensation. Gwen was devastated by what she had heard.

 

He owed it to her to put her first. He still cared about her.

 

“So we work at _fixing_ it, Peter!” Gwen called. “We can work at being _equals_! We start by telling each other the truth and the whole truth, and then we work on treating each other with respect. It – it can work. I’ll stop making you feel jealous and insecure, whilst you stop making me feel unwanted and an inconvenience, and we –”

 

“We shouldn’t be feeling that way to begin with!” Peter snapped. “Wade has driven me to insanity at times, but I’ve never felt like I couldn’t be myself. You and MJ fight loads at times, but you know you can trust her with anything. It shouldn’t be this difficult. We just – we just aren’t meant to be together, Gwen. It might have worked out in some other time or place, but this –”

 

“We’re breaking up, aren’t we?”

 

He looked away from her towards the open door, where a part of him wondered whether his parents were listening or whether they had respectfully tuned out. It would be absolutely devastating should either one want to talk to him after this, because all he wanted was to stay strong for Gwen and then cry to himself when she had gone, to finally let out everything he felt. It was hard to show that kind of pain in front of his parents, because – perhaps taking too much after Pepper – he never really wanted to put people out or make them feel bad in turn.

 

It was hard to form the words that he needed to say. There was no way to avoid it, but it was just so final and so devastating to think that this could be the end to all that they had and all that they could have. How could he be sure this was the right choice? He didn’t know whether it was right to leave her, but he did know that he would rather spend nights eating tacos with Wade and days training with Ava and the team than with Gwen . . . that had to be a bad sign. It was better to end it sooner than later.

 

“We’re breaking up,” he said.

 

There was the sound of a broken sob from where she sat, before she then wiped away her tears with both hands in a rather elegant gesture. It made him feel a stab of guilt at seeing her make-up smeared, because he knew exactly what pride she took in her appearance and how pained she must have felt, and he bit his lip so hard that he felt the taste of blood. He wanted her to leave. He didn’t want her to see him cry, because this was _her_ pain and she was the one that deserved support . . . not him.

 

“I guess this is goodbye then,” she said.

 

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

He looked to her and saw her stand up, although she was a little shaky on her feet and seemed unable to stand still without fidgeting. Gwen would fix her skirt or hair, then brush down her shirt or check the contents of her bag, and clearly she couldn’t focus or concentrate through all that she felt. What was the normal thing to say at a time like this? Peter stood up and let out a choked cough, which turned into a rather awkward throat-clearing as he tried to hold back how he was on the verge of tears himself, and the smile she gave at that only made him feel worse. It felt wrong to have her sympathy when he didn’t deserve it. He felt awful.

 

It was then that she walked up to him quickly and with long strides, so that he felt the kiss long before he even realised it for even being a kiss. He felt how soft her lips were against his, something that he relished in and wanted to experience more, but the wet feeling of her tears and the huge sense of emotional urgency reminded him that this wasn’t a kiss of lust or love . . . it was a goodbye. He would miss her kisses, but most of all he would miss the intimacy of simply having another person in his life.

 

She pulled away slowly and smiled at him. He nearly leaned back into her to kiss her once more, but he couldn’t risk changing his mind when he knew in his heart that he had done the right thing. There was a brief smile on his lips as he thought back to all the times that they had shared together; her hand on his cheek lingered for a moment longer than it ought and he wondered whether she would ask him again to trust her, just as he wondered if – this time – he would give in. Gwen pulled away. He felt her absence more keenly than he had ever done in his life.

 

“Goodbye, Peter,” she whispered.

 

Gwen smiled one last smile. He watched her as she turned around and left his room almost like a stranger, so that he was left staring after her longingly and with a great sense of grief. He reached out his hand and yet grasped only shadow. It was hard to think of Wade feeling such self-pity over a break-up, or someone like Sam beating himself up over a lost chance, but he couldn’t help how he felt. This was the end of everything he had. It was the end of his first love.

 

“Goodbye, Gwen.”

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 7

# Part One: Chapter Seven

 

_Darn them!_

Spider-Man coughed violently.

 

The smoke in the air was suffocating, to the point that – had he been indoors – he may have passed out from the fumes, but luckily he managed to find enough breath to stay conscious and crawl to a kneeling position. He hunched over and clawed at the rooftop with his hands, so that the sound of gravel and debris echoed louder than it ought in his ears. It was hard not to laugh. He couldn’t help but think of what idiotic comment Deadpool would say should he see him like this . . .

 

It took longer than it should for him to stand. The little silent laughs hurt him immensely, so that he was sure he had bruised at least one rib or two, and meanwhile his knees stung from the impact of the land. He groaned and stood shakily to his feet, whilst he cursed the day that he had chosen to don the mask and become a superhero, because lately his life had become nothing but explosions and long chases with villains that wanted his head on a platter. There was a brief moment when the world seemed to spin around him, but luckily he quickly regained his senses. _No head injury this time,_ he thought. The only downside was how he ached all over.

 

He looked around to survey the damage.

 

He could see his father and a handful of heroes in the far distance, which meant that the explosions had led him far off course and were probably intended to separate him from the crowds. This had been planned. The Goblin was intent on finding out the man behind the mask, just as he was on capturing Spider-Man for whatever reason he felt necessary, and clearly he had _some_ sort of plan in mind. He wouldn’t have divided Spider-Man from the crowd unless he thought he could take him one-on-one, and he wouldn’t have thought he could take him at all without a reason.

 

Deadpool was likely around somewhere, which acted as a small reassurance. He had been asked by Wolverine to help out in the fray, but whatever job he had been given was small and hadn’t occupied his attention for very long at all, so – the moment he spotted his ‘hero’ – he had spent a considerable amount of time chasing after him to provide ‘back-up’. It wasn’t quite ideal, but Spider-Man felt incredibly grateful that there was someone highly skilled watching his back around.

 

“Well, least this can’t get any worse.”

 

It took him only a second to brush off the debris. There had been a snapshot last time of him swinging alongside Iron Man, in which his uniform had been torn to shreds and his body was severely injured, and he hoped to not have such a repeat. Luckily, everything seemed absolutely fine, aside from the obvious. He looked around once more to scan the rooftops for any sign of the Goblin or his associates, but instead he came across absolutely nothing. Then – from nowhere – he saw her.

 

“Why do I have to open my mouth?”

 

He gave a sigh and aimed his wrist high at a nearby building, before he gave a running jump and dived off the rooftop. The momentum was good and the freedom of the fall was an adrenaline rush. These were the rare moments that he lived for, where he could move freely and without risk, because – as exciting as explosions seemed to the public – the usual danger killed whatever buzz that he may have otherwise experienced. It was a mystery to him how someone like Deadpool could live off danger as if the whole thing were one big thrill . . . he sometimes wondered if the older man didn’t have some sort of death wish.

 

It took only a few moments to land on the roof he needed. Mary Jane knelt near to the edge with her elbows resting on the ledge, and in her hands she held a small camera that was very similar to Peter’s in style. He knew that she was determined to work in journalism, but to go this far to get a good story? The villains never cared about damage control or staying in a defined perimeter, and if they could flush him out this far then they would be sure to follow. She was in danger.

 

“MJ, what are you doing?”

 

“Getting a few snaps for the _Bugle_ , duh!”

 

“Yeah? _Someone’s_ definitely ‘snapped’, alright.”

 

Mary Jane gave a small snort. It was clear that she thought she was safe so far away from the action, and no one would ever think to involve an intern and amateur photographer in the fray, but she had yet to realise the target was Spider-Man and they were flushing him out. He admired her passion and dedication, but he had already lost so many people and this was too great a risk. He couldn’t lose MJ, too.

 

Spider-Man took a moment to look around him, as he hoped to catch sight of an easy way down for his friend and an easy way back to the fray. He hoped to get her away from him and out of danger. It was devastating to think of how he had lost his uncle, how he had been forced to push his girlfriend away, but here was one of his best friends and here he was attracting trouble straight to her. He gave a sigh and began to plan the best way to get her to get her to ground without her getting annoyed, but frankly her determination for independence was second to her safety.

 

“Okay, time to go.”

 

“Easy there, tiger,” Mary Jane said. “I got some _amazing_ shots already! If I keep this up, I could have a job waiting for me to get me through college! I have a _great_ one of Iron Man that looks like he’s saving some civilians, plus I caught one of Deadpool on the roof over there. He’s blurry enough to look like you, so –”

 

“Wait? _Deadpool_? How did he make it here so quickly? I thought I had lost him four blocks away! Oh no, people mistake us enough as it is . . . just what was he doing? He wasn’t drawing too much attention, was he?”

 

“Well, he waved a lot at me and shouted across to stay put. Does that count?”

 

“Oh, yeah. That counts. _Come on, MJ_.”

 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her away. There was a sharp protest at first, but luckily she had forgone the tripod and had only her camera. She slipped it over her neck and muttered complaints under her breath, but Spider-Man refused to let go and kept his grip firm as iron so that she couldn’t break loose, and finally he brought them to the far side of the roof and onto the ledge. Mary Jane took that moment to panic. It was obvious what he meant to do and she took that moment to look down.

 

“You can’t be serious,” she muttered.

 

“Funny, that’s what I thought when I saw you.”

 

It was then that she wrapped her arms around his waist, whilst he carefully took a hold of her and aimed once more for the building opposite. He couldn’t take any chances. The fact was that the bad guys were after him, if they mistook Deadpool for him – which chances are they would – then it would look like Mary Jane was acting as an ally or accomplice, and they were probably aiming right for her as they spoke. He drew in a deep breath and held tight to her.

 

He dived only a second later onto the roof opposite. They landed quite elegantly, which made a change from his usual difficult landings, and he let go of Mary Jane with a soft drop. She fell forward a couple of steps, before she stood calmly on her feet and looked around. It wasn’t a foolproof plan to go one building over, because anyone with half-a-brain would just change their aim or hop over in turn, but at least got her out of the direct line of fire whilst he mentally tried to work out a route away from the fray. Mary Jane made to move to the ledge again, but he took a firm hold of her and dragged her to the jutting wall that attached to the building beside them.

 

They pressed themselves against the wall, whilst he held her back with his forearm. There was an eerie quiet about the area, which was perhaps more disconcerting than the explosions from afar, but close by he could hear a scratching and crumbling noise, one that worried him more than anything else. He couldn’t sense anything. Spider-Man drew in a deep breath and looked across to the ledge where the noise was coming from, when suddenly he saw it: Deadpool. He pulled himself over the ledge and fell in a rather embarrassing lump on the rooftop, before he gave a lazy wave.

 

“Yo! Spidey! You better take cover!”

 

“What? Why should I?”

 

“ _Cover_! _Now_!”

 

Spider-Man didn’t think twice. He threw Mary Jane to the floor of the rooftop, before he then threw his body over hers in an attempt to protect her from whatever explosion or gunshot or attack was about to occur. There was a moment of silence, before he heard a run of footsteps on the rooftop and then a loud burst of gunfire, which caused him to hug Mary Jane close to him and turn his body in the direction of the ledge. He held his breath as he awaited the feeling of bullets, but none came.

 

It was only when the gunshots stopped that he looked up. He saw Deadpool kneeling in front of them with arms aimed forward; it was clear that he was shooting at a figure far in the distance, whilst he had also taken a few solid hits. There were a few drops of blood on the floor in front of Deadpool, which broke Spider-Man’s heart to see, and he wanted nothing more to reach out and make sure that his friend was okay, even if his friend _did_ have a healing factor. The suit did hide the blood pretty well, so Deadpool’s assertion that the bad guys never saw him bleed appeared to be true, and yet he shouldn’t have been bleeding at all! Spider-Man quickly climbed to his feet.

 

“Time to get inside, baby boy!”

 

“Come on, MJ!”

 

He helped Mary Jane up to her feet and then pulled her quickly inside into a stairwell, cursing the intense feeling of _déjà vu_ that he felt on doing so, and yet it was hard to be too concerned by the repetition as Deadpool followed them inside. The way he moved was rather impressive. Deadpool kept the door open, perhaps to keep a look out or perhaps to get a clear shot should anyone come too close, but he trusted the older man to aim only to slow down and not to kill. He would have admired the perfect posture and rather intimidating pose, but he couldn’t help but stare at the weeping bullet holes that stood out on an otherwise fine chest. Spider-Man gave a sigh.

 

“Do you need help to get those out?” Spider-Man asked.

 

“Ooh, little Spidey wants to crawl inside me, does he? You only had to ask!”

 

“Shut up, Deadpool! Do you want to heal with those things inside you? I don’t have any problem letting you try to dig them out yourself, but frankly I could use you for cover and I’d rather not have you die midway as a bullet reached your heart.”

 

“Hey, I’ve been digging out bullets since before you were born!”

 

“Then you won’t need my help. Hurry up, Wade!”

 

The mercenary stared at him. It was almost intimidating, but he was certain that Wade rolled his eyes beneath the mask. He felt the growing silence all too poignantly, especially when he was suddenly aware of the guns in both hands, and he wondered if he had crossed a line or pushed Wade too far. It was then that the silence broke. Wade lifted his left arm up into a perfect line, as he aimed his gun outside, whilst he shoved the gun in his right hand into its holster. He then reached up to his chest to try and dig out the bullets. It was clumsy and it was awkward . . . it was impossible.

 

“Okay, maybe a _little_ help,” admitted Wade.

 

Spider-Man gave a groan of frustration, then walked up to Wade and swatted his hand away childishly. There were three bullet holes in a triangle shape about the man’s chest, although now they wept rather violently from how Wade had amateurishly tried to pry them open with one hand, and Spider-Man just hoped that the older man hadn’t pushed the bullets further inside. He bit his lip in concentration and tried to remember his first-aid training . . . somehow it hadn’t included gunshot wounds.

 

He pressed his left hand against Wade’s chest to hold the fabric in place. It was a very awkward touch, one that made him blush nearly as bad as if he had been touching Gwen in such a place, because his sole thought was that his friend’s chest was incredibly hard and toned. He tried not to get distracted, even as he wondered why such a thing would even be distracting, and instead focussed on digging out the bullets with his free hand. The feeling of his fingers inside a weeping wound was enough to make him retch rather violently, but it took far less time than he had thought to remove the bullets. He would have to burn his gloves after this. They reeked off blood and were soaked through to his skin. It was awful.

 

“That’s not something I ever want to see again,” Mary Jane said.

 

“That’s not something I ever want to _feel_ again,” groaned Spider-Man. “I think I’m about to be sick . . . I swear I was touching his lung at one point, it was horrific and that blood will never wash out! I _definitely_ wasn’t meant to be a doctor.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” snapped Deadpool. “Tell you what, get back to me when you’re severed in two and have to _crawl up your own intestine_ to cut yourself down to the ground, _then_ you can bitch to me about what’s goddamn gross or not! _Hey, where did the bullets go?_ I don’t know, I guess he has secret pouches. Hey – secret pouches! I don’t even want to think where those are lurking!”

 

“Are you – _are you talking to yourself again_? Look, Deadpool, I don’t mind digging out bullets for you, I don’t even mind you helping me out here, but you darn near got us killed! You’re supposed to be the best mercenary money can buy! Didn’t you realise that they’re after me? You led them right to me!”

 

“Don’t be such a little bitch! Kids today have no appreciation for anything! You think I don’t _know_ that they were after you? You think I don’t know people get us mixed up? It’s a lot better to lure them out here than to take them out there, Spidey.”

 

“You purposely led them over here? You – you foolish –!”

 

“Uh-uh! I’d be nice, if I were you!”

 

Spider-Man felt the cold metal before he saw the metal. The blade was against his throat almost as if it _belonged_ there, with just enough pressure to bruise his neck without actually breaking the skin in the slightest. He tried not to swallow hard or turn his head, because one small move and it would cut for sure, and yet – as much as he trusted his instincts to get him out of the blade’s path – it was too small a space to risk getting into a knife-fight. Mary Jane was flush against the wall with a look of panic. It was too risky to fight a trained assassin with her in the fray.

 

“I like you, Spidey,” said Deadpool. “I also know what it’s like being sixteen . . . hormones, homework, beatings . . . so I’m going to give you a warning: don’t call me a fool and I won’t partially un-alive you, okay? Great.”

 

Deadpool sheathed his knife and looked out through the stairwell door, which allowed the light to cast over his wound and showed that the skin had already healed over. It distracted Spider-Man for a brief second, especially when he could see that the scars on Wade’s face clearly were on his chest too, and he feared for a moment what kind of pain his friend must suffer on a constant basis. Deadpool then shot out two bullets and turned to smile through the mask.

 

 _Impressive_. Deadpool had been watching their surroundings and perimeter this entire time, even as Spider-Man dug around for the bullets and complained about his behaviour, and – by the sounds of cries on a building roof far away – he had actually made an impressive shot and struck an enemy enough to stop him. It was sometimes easy to forget the older man’s skill behind his extreme antics and eccentric behaviour, but at moments like this that realisation came crashing down about Spider-Man with a rather terrifying impact. He hoped never to truly get on Deadpool’s bad side.

 

“I’m sorry that I insulted you,” Spider-Man said.

 

“Nah, no worries, sweet-cheeks! It’s not like I haven’t heard worse! It’s just that you have _no_ idea how fucking annoying it is for everyone to assume you’re some sort of idiot, and -! Okay, yes. I said _yes_. Alright -! I’m telling the story, aren’t I? _Shut up_! Where was I? Yeah, sorry about that! It’s pretty bad today and I think my head’s all swollen, but even when I’m crazy I’m not a bloody fool! I probably shouldn’t encourage that assumption, now I think about it . . .

 

“Okay, what was I saying? Right, those henchmen of the Goblin’s are keeping the Avengers all nice and busy over there, which is all fine and dandy, but _clearly_ their target isn’t just random mischief. I mean, like, come on -! What are we supposed to be here . . . a Saturday morning cartoon? I don’t think so! They’re clearly after _you_. They want the great Spidey! I can get that, but I’m supposed to be turning over a new leaf and the job Wolverine paid me to do finished up nicely ages ago, so I figured I’d help out! We lead the _real_ bad guy out here and take him out! Nice and easy -!”

 

“Deadpool, I told you –”

 

“I wasn’t going to kill him, I promise!”

 

“Hey, that’s all great,” said MJ. “Can I ask how we’re getting out of here, though?”

 

It was a good question. He looked at Deadpool that had – most conspicuously – crossed his finger at his side, which caused him to frown darkly at the mercenary that seemed to think Spider-Man to be rather blind. Spider-Man sighed and reached up to rub the frustration out of his forehead, even though no amount of massage could ever work the tension out of a Wade-induced headache, and suddenly he wondered how they _would_ make it out. The best way was probably down.

 

“Well, _Spidey_ seems to think a body bag’s a good way,” snapped Deadpool.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I got myself away from the battle as fast as I could, exactly because I _didn’t_ want there to be any body-bags! I refuse to see anyone else hurt because of me! I’m not going to see anyone else suffer!”

 

“Oh, I love it! You act like a big tarantula, but you’re actually just an itsy-bitsy spider, after all! Ha! Delicious! Look, kid, I may be ten-shades of insane, but I’ve lived a long time and know more about suffering than you know about web-slinging, and if you think I don’t recognise pseudo-suicidal behaviour when I see it . . . well . . . you’re the crazy one! Dude, seriously? Throwing yourself in the line of fire? You could have easily have dragged her into the stairwell or jumped off the roof, instead!”

 

“You gave me half-a-second to take cover! I acted on instinct, Wade! Don’t you _dare_ try to warp that into something it’s not either, that I have some sort of instinct to die! Mary Jane is my friend – one of my best friends – and there is no way I’d ever put myself before her! She was in danger, so I acted to save her! I did what I had to do!”

 

“You’re reckless, baby boy! You’re reckless, but most of all you don’t seem to realise that people are going to suffer regardless! If your head goes ‘boom’, I know that _I’d_ be devastated for one thing! Self-sacrifice is the most _selfish_ thing ever!”

 

“Just shut up, Wade! You –”

 

Spider-Man ripped off his mask.

 

He held the mask in a tight grip, whilst he ran his hands over his face. There was a slight warm and moist feeling on his cheek, likely from the blood that coated his fingers and part of his palm, but the feeling he ignored. It was hard to concentrate when there was an unbearable pain in his chest, as if he had taken those same bullets himself. He could feel their weight in the storage compartment of his web-shooters, unbearable as the slight tremor to his hands and cloying feeling in his throat, and he dreaded to imagine how pale he appeared to his friends. It was too much.

 

They stood in silence about him. He drew in a shuddered breath and began to pace, but – with Mary Jane on one side and Deadpool on the other – he felt trapped. He had lost so much already and he couldn’t lose them too, so he would protect them with all that he had, even if that meant putting himself in danger to save them. The stairwell felt cold and dank and dirty, enough that it was enough to make him want to leave. He wanted to fight. He wanted just for some distraction.

 

The worst past was that Deadpool had a point. He knew that by being so reckless with his life that he was only hurting others, because his parents panicked any time Spider-Man hit the news and his friends always fussed over any injury, but he didn’t know what else to do. The only time he ever felt _alive_ was in his costume. It was the only time he had the confidence to speak his mind and to act freely, and it was the only time that he got to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the greats and make a difference in the world, and it was the only time he could help people. He had to redeem himself. He had to make up for the sins of his past.

 

“You – you don’t understand!”

 

“Peter?” Mary Jane said. “I know you’re hurting, but you can’t let Wade push your buttons. I know what he’s trying to say, he even has a point, but he’s just trying to rile you up to _prove_ his point . . . don’t let him, okay? Now’s not the time.”

 

“S-so what? You agree with him, too? That’s just great, MJ! You don’t – neither of you know . . . I’m not _trying_ to get myself killed, all right? I know that sometimes I forget how much webbing I have at crucial moments, just like sometimes I throw myself in the line of fire, but – _but I have to do something_! If I act before I think, it’s just because I have people to save! I – I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t!”

 

“Okay, Peter, listen to me,” she pleaded. “ _Listen to me_. You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you just can’t. That’s why you have us. You have Ava and Danny and Harry, too. You aren’t a bad guy, Peter, so just talk to us, okay? We’re here to talk, to help you with all of this . . . don’t risk your life so needlessly.”

 

“I have to – I have to just -!”

 

Deadpool gave a low groan. There was a slight shuffling to and fro on his feet, whilst he seemed to nervously fidget as if unsure of himself. Then – without any warning – the older man slapped a hand hard on Peter’s shoulder, so hard that the younger boy nearly buckled under the force, and yet when he looked up he could see an incredibly creepy smile appear on the mask of his friend. It was a little like he wanted to reassure Peter and yet didn’t know how, so he copied a gesture he had seen elsewhere.

 

“Only the good guys worry this much,” he said.

 

“Tired of the good guys already?” Peter teased. “Good to know.”

 

“Look, bad guys have got to pay, right? You keep beating yourself up and eventually you start seeing yourself as the worst guy in the world, then the only guy left to take out is yourself . . . all well and good, but then who’ll take out all the other bad guys? You’re a _good_ guy, Petey, that’s _why_ it hurts so much to see other people hurt. You got empathy and all that jazz, which is _why_ you get all pissy when I kill people!

 

“Take my word on this _as_ a bad guy: you’re not bad!” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder hard. “The only guy responsible for your uncle’s death is the guy who pulled the trigger; you can control a lot of shit, but you can’t put the gun in a guy’s hand and make him pull it! Don’t start the ‘what-if’ game when you didn’t _ask_ him to shoot! Believe me on this one, kiddo! I’ve had guys after me for revenge, seen some who shot themselves in grief too, but they’re just a bunch of idiots for blaming themselves for what _I_ did and – _crap_! Is there a bathroom around here? I got to take a leak bad!”

 

“This whole _place_ smells like a bathroom,” said Peter.

 

“You guys mind if I go against the wall then?”

 

“ _Yes_!” MJ and Peter shouted in unison.

 

Peter smiled despite himself. He had heard a lot of empty platitudes over the past year or so, but he had never heard such a cold logic come from anyone, and – in all honesty – it actually _helped_. Granted that Deadpool doing the ‘potty dance’ lessened the emotional impact, but it helped just a little bit to know that Ben’s death wasn’t entirely his doing. These were the times when he remembered why he liked Deadpool so much, and he made a mental note to talk about Gwen with him later. He could do with the older man’s opinion. He felt so _rejected_ at the moment and unwanted, but he knew that he had brought those feelings upon himself.

 

It was then that he let he felt himself blush, as he could feel Deadpool’s hand still resting on him and he could feel his admiration for the man grow. He felt naked without his mask, enough that he worried Deadpool could see the conflicted feelings written upon his face, and so he looked away in fear of revealing too much. The last thing he needed was to be accused of having a childish crush, especially when he wasn’t even sure if he _could_ be attracted to guys. He liked girls . . . _girls_.

 

He then saw it: Green Goblin.

 

The villain hovered outside on the roof and looked right at him. He drew in a staggered breath and quickly yanked his mask back on, whilst he heard Deadpool let out a flurry of gunshots and yell at MJ to step aside, but – no sooner had he pulled his mask on – did the Goblin seem to have vanished. Spider-Man made to jump outside of the stairwell and look around, but Deadpool grabbed him about the waist and spun him back inside. The strong arm remained locked around him.

 

“Time to go,” Deadpool said.

 

“Let go of me, Wade! I have to –”

 

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m getting you and the chick back to Stark Tower. It was my other job, commissioned by Stark himself! I would have taken the job for free, but don’t tell him that! I need the cash pretty bad.”

 

“Deadpool, that was the Goblin and he’s after _me_ –”

 

“He knows your face. He’ll still be after you.”

 

“So that’s it? No fight, no –”

 

“We’re done.”

 

Deadpool used his gun hand to signal to Mary Jane. He waved her down the stairs, where she went pretty quickly, whilst meanwhile he kept his arm around Spider-Man’s waist and began to pull him down too in a hurry. The strength he used was impressive, enough that he found himself a little embarrassed and it forced him to push back in turn to reassert himself, and – once he proved himself an equal – he went down the stairs of his own accord. It really was time to get going.

 

He found Mary Jane and proceeded to lead her out . . .

 

Deadpool had his back.

 


	9. Chapter 8

# Part One: Chapter Eight

****

“He’s still asleep.”

 

Pepper nodded over to the sofa. He followed her gaze to see that Deadpool had crashed out in a rather inelegant manner, with one leg thrown across the back of the sofa and one propped up on the floor, meanwhile one arm dangled behind his head and the other fell onto his stomach. It was difficult to imagine how he could be comfortable in the slightest, but the occasional incoherent mumbling and scratch of his privates indicated that he was at least a _little_ comfortable.

 

It took Pepper a moment to sit down at the kitchen table opposite Peter and MJ, where she held onto her mug of cocoa with both hands with a rather awkward smile. The steam rose in front of her face like a veil, whilst the aroma drifted over and filled his sense of smell with the most delicious scent he could imagine, and suddenly he regretted that he had declined a drink. MJ sat beside him with a cup of coffee and a frown. He noted the weird silence that fell upon them; Pepper seemed reluctant to speak, although she wasn’t really one for small talk, and MJ seemed shell-shocked.

 

“How can he sleep like that?” Peter asked.

 

“He was badly hurt before he found you,” Pepper explained. “I didn’t get a lot of the details, but it seems regenerating body parts and healing in general expends a lot of energy. He said that he needs a lot of sleep and calories to make up for the entire process, which – I suppose – explains how he can lie like that . . . if you can call it ‘lying’. Just don’t listen to his sleep-talk to closer, okay? It verges on explicit.”

 

“I – er – didn’t plan on it. He – he didn’t mention anything about being injured; I didn’t even think that he might need time to rest or to heal . . . he just came by and helped me to get MJ to safety. It was pretty impressive, really. I hope he’s okay.”

 

“He’ll be fine, Peter,” said Pepper. “Try not to worry too much.”

 

“The question is whether _you’re_ okay,” asked MJ.

 

“Huh? I’m fine,” he replied.

 

He began to fidget with the mask in his hands. The fact was that everything had been a blur since they broke out of the building, so that he still wasn’t sure how they exactly made it back to Stark Tower in one piece. There hadn’t been time to change out of his Spider-Man uniform, so his gloves now felt stiff with dry blood and his knees were beginning to itch from the torn fabric, and yet the costume helped to give him a confidence in which he otherwise missed.

 

Deadpool chose that moment to let out a high-pitched sound, which forced him to look over at the mercenary with a smile. Deadpool actually looked pretty innocent all stretched out and sleeping, which made a massive change from his usually violent and sarcastic nature, and the way he lounged actually showed off his muscles in a rather flattering light. It made Peter blush to realise that he was thinking about his friend in such a way, especially when he had never considered men in such a way before, but the things he felt for Deadpool were so similar to what he felt for Gwen. How could he possibly like both in such similar ways? How could he feel that way at all?

 

There was a small cough from MJ, which caused him to jump in surprise, and when he looked to her it was clear she found his moment of distraction to be pretty amusing, but he was grateful for her warning. He dared a glance to his mother and noticed that she – thankfully – had not seen him staring at all, although she was too polite to make it obvious, even if she had. Peter blushed in embarrassment and looked about the lounge-cum-kitchen. It was suspiciously quiet, all things considered.

 

“What about Dad? He’s not back yet,” said Peter.

 

“Coulson was in touch to say that things aren’t quite settled yet,” replied Pepper. “They managed to arrest a lot of the trouble-makers, but the Goblin is still on the loose and there is a lot of damage to be cleared up. Your dad managed to sneak in a quick phone call to say that he’s fine, but not to let MJ go home unless he or an agent is able to escort her, as well as to get Wade out of the apartment before he gets back.”

 

“Is he kidding?” MJ said with a laugh. “There is no way that I would head home during all of this! The views from here will make for some _spectacular_ panoramic shots, if anything else happens! It’s not like I have a reason to leave.”

 

“Well, hopefully there won’t be any more danger.”

 

“Can we put the TV on?” Peter asked.

 

Pepper sipped her cocoa and then gave a nod. There was a brief command issued to J.A.R.V.I.S. and then the sound of the television set coming to life, which flickered on and gave an eerie glow to the kitchen area. Deadpool groaned from the sofa, but simply rolled onto his side in a position to put a contortionist to shame, most likely to not be disturbed by the bright images of the screen. The television was on low, although the subtitles made it clear the news cast had nothing new to say.

 

“It’s live,” said Pepper, “but nothing new has been reported.”

 

“Hey, I just thought,” Peter interrupted. “Harry lives only a few blocks away from all the drama, plus I don’t think I’ve heard from him all day. Do you think he’s okay? I mean, what if he’s out there and he’s hurt or injured?”

 

“I’m sure Harry is fine. I’ve heard that Fury grounded your team, but – if they’re as stubborn as you are – I bet they’re out there right now scouring the place for anyone that needs their help. It’s almost over now, Peter. I promise you that the Avengers have everything under control, so stay put and try not to worry. Your father doesn’t want you out in the line of fire and now the Goblin knows your face –”

 

“I lost Gwen already, Mom. I bet she’s at the airport already, probably even boarding the aeroplane to Heathrow, and I’m glad . . . honestly . . . I know that now she’s safe out of harm’s way and that Spider-Man can’t get her involved in all of this, but I _loved_ her and it hurts that she’s gone. I can’t risk losing Harry, too!”

 

“Peter,” Mary Jane said, “I hate to say this, but you’ve already lost him.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Mary Jane gave a small sigh. It felt as if she were reluctant to tell him something, which was made apparent by how he eyes narrowed onto her coffee and by the way she bit at her bottom lip. They had always told each other everything since childhood, so for her to keep secrets now was rather worrying, but he waited patiently for her to speak when she was ready to speak. Pepper watched carefully from over the rim of her mug, even as the silence continued awkwardly.

 

It was uncomfortable, but the tension was broken as Deadpool groaned in his sleep and raised a hand to make a squeezing motion. The smile on his face was visible through the mask, which was enough to make Peter laugh, and – just as he tried to pass his laugh off as a cough – Mary Jane gave him a stern look to silence him. He remembered then that this was a serious discussion and that Harry could be in danger, and he sobered up and gave her an embarrassed smile. Pepper glanced quickly at the television where pictures of police were shown helping victims.

 

“He – he’s not been himself lately,” she said.

 

“I know that he’s been pretty unstable and depressed –”

 

“It’s more than that. Peter, we –!” MJ gave a long sigh. “We broke up, okay? I tried to be there for him, I honestly did, but he _changed_ so much! It started off with him just pretty low; he would wonder why you picked Ava’s group over him, why you kept cancelling on us, but then it became almost like an obsession. He felt neglected and down, but then his dad would keep comparing him to you and saying how you were the perfect son, and I think he started to resent you.

 

“He just became so _angry_. It was like the ultimate abandonment issue. I couldn’t help him, but each day he kept questioning why you didn’t want to be around him and why he couldn’t be the son his dad wanted, and he got angrier and angrier . . . it came to a point that I was scared to be around him. Gwen told him that she was leaving today, but then it all just came _bursting_ out! He said that she didn’t care about him, and that none of his friends did, but then he kept talking about his tech and experiments and stuff his father was working on . . . I – I broke up with him.”

 

“W-what? I – I know he was having a rough time, but I tried to get him more involved with our group and spend time with him! I hadn’t – I didn’t know he was so down in the dumps! If I had known, I _swear_ that I would have made more of an effort to be there and be less of a cruddy friend! He didn’t even _tell_ me that you broke up! Oh God, he must be feeling awful! I feel so bad for him!”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up. He’s had a rough life for a rich kid.”

 

“Yeah, and I made it rougher.”

 

He ran his hands over his face and dropped his head onto the table. The loud thud of his forehead on metal was apparently enough to get Deadpool to jump up in a somewhat awake state. The mercenary looked around with his left hand raised with a gun firmly in his grip, but – after looking around with a low moan and wobbling head – he dropped back down and the gun fell to the floor. This time some light snoring came forth, which was perhaps more annoying than the sleep-talking had been.

 

Pepper walked around the table and placed a hand on his shoulder, which was quite reassuring and helped him to feel less alone. Mary Jane did the same by touching his arm kindly, but the fact was that he didn’t deserve their sympathy when he had been such an awful friend, and in his costume it was up to him to save the day and make things better. He had failed as a hero. It was awful to think that he has somehow made matters worse for his friends just by trying to do better for the city, and when he thought how bad Harry must have felt . . . Harry hadn’t even _trusted_ him enough to tell him about the break-up. Peter dreaded to think how badly he had screwed up.

 

It was then that the television changed images. It barely registered on Peter’s gaze. He turned his head lazily to the side to watch from across the kitchen, but at that moment he caught the sound of a scream from somewhere on the screen. It cut into him like a knife, especially when it sounded so familiar and so filled with fear, and when he began to let his eyes focus on the screen he suddenly saw the Goblin and in his arms was a young girl. The cameraman zoomed in. They were blonde, pretty, young . . .

 

“Peter, why don’t we –”

 

“ _Shush!_ Is that – is that the Goblin?”

 

 _Gwen_.

 

The bridge was incredibly familiar. It was the exact same bridge in which he rescued a young boy just over a year or so ago, and on the top of the bridge stood the Goblin with Gwen in his arms. He must have taken her from the airport, perhaps even sometime during her commute, but – even if he _had_ seen Peter’s face – how had he found out about her connection to him so quickly? She fought and struggled. She was afraid. Peter sat up and Pepper raised a hand to cover her mouth.

 

“Oh God, I think it is,” said Pepper.

 

“Do you think he’s trying to lure you out?” MJ asked.

 

“Oh yeah,” replied Peter. “I think he is.”

 

He jumped to his feet and tried to work out how long it would take to get to the Goblin, because time was of the essence. Gwen had lost her father, not to mention suffered the recent break-up badly, but now she had been taken by the city’s most notorious criminal and was being held to ransom. The Goblin wanted to lure Peter out. He wanted Peter to suffer. It wasn’t fair! Gwen was innocent! Innocent!

 

There was no other choice. Peter pulled on his mask and adjusted it properly; he had messed up once by letting the bad guy see his face, but there was no way that he would make the same mistake twice. He would stay hidden. It was important not just to hide from the media and other villains, but also to hide from Gwen, especially when he had ruined her life already and the knowledge of his true identity might just destroy her completely. He would swing there . . . defeat the Goblin . . . rescue her. It was possible that she could be back on her plane in time, make it to England and be okay and live life to its fullest away from him in safety. He had to save her.

 

“Don’t wake Deadpool. Don’t tell Dad.”

 

“Peter, you are _not_ going out there!” Pepper yelled. “I mean it, I –!”

 

Peter reached out and placed a kiss to her cheek. He hated to disobey her, but some things were just more important than safety or groundings. There was only a limited amount of time before Gwen was in serious trouble, because the Goblin wouldn’t have any qualms about killing her to make a point, and he had to get to her right away. He pulled away from his mother and glanced to Deadpool. If he didn’t move quickly, she would wake him up and _he’d_ stop Peter for sure. He had to go.

 

“I’m going,” he said. “Watch MJ for me!”

 

“Peter! _Peter_ -!”

 

There was no time to listen. He ran straight for his room and jumped up onto the wall, because – security and safety being what they were – the windows were too high for a regular person to climb or jump out of, but luckily he wasn’t a regular person. Peter thanked God that he had left his window open, just as he could jump high and scale walls, and quickly he was outside. The wind blew incredibly strong from their high floor positioning, but he held strong and began to drop down with his webs.

 

He prayed that he would make it in time.

 

He had to save her.


	10. Chapter 9

# Part One: Chapter Nine

****

“Gwen!”

 

The car roof gave way under him.

 

He had dropped quickly and from a great height, so that he was sure he would not have survived the fall without his powers, and yet he felt amazed that the metal sheet held out in rather remarkable condition. It indented greatly from the pressure of his body, but otherwise the roof that gave way held out well. He looked down at the immobile vehicle and tried to assess his situation. Time was of the essence, but he felt as if he were fighting an inevitable defeat. He felt trapped.

 

There was a rush of people to the left of him. They crowded together to the point that many fell over with the force of the pushing and shoving, and he was sure that he could see a couple trampled underfoot as their fellow people continued in their panic. The car rocked almost rhythmically from side-to-side with how the people crammed between the gap to get away, but he held tight through his suit and made sure not to fall, and – truthfully – he was simply grateful that they had made the decision to get off the bridge. He couldn’t take on the Goblin and rescue Gwen whilst also making sure the civilians stayed safe, too. It was just too much for one man.

 

He tried to focus through the screams and cries, even as he felt himself deafened by the sheer volume of the people around him, and yet the only sound he could focus on was that of Gwen. It was clear that she was frightened. He could hear her crying out for help and screaming until her voice became just a low murmur, as if she had damaged her throat with the sound of her cries. Did she feel any kind of relief on seeing Spider-Man there? Gwen resented him so much for the loss of her father, perhaps his presence only added to her suffering . . .

 

“Come on, Spider-Man!”

 

The voice that called out to him was one of mockery. It didn’t sound like the Goblin that he was used to fighting, but there wasn’t time to decipher the subtle difference. He was being taunted into action, enough that the familiarity of the voice only served to remind him of what he stood to lose, and he couldn’t help but to clench his fists and look up at the source of all his suffering. The Goblin stood on the top of the tower and held Gwen by his side with one free arm, and as he looked down at Spider-Man the two shared a long gaze that felt far more meaningful than it otherwise ought. The Goblin knew who he was, which meant he could see what Spider-Man couldn’t see.

 

“We’re waiting,” the Goblin called down. “Won’t you join us?”

 

“H-hold on, Gwen! I’m coming!”

 

Spider-Man looked around in a panic. The tower was too high to use his webbing to jump up, as well as too far away at ground level, but he could scale the tower next to him and then use that as a base to swing over. It would leave him vulnerable, however, because he would need at least a few minutes to climb to the top and in that time the green-themed villain would have time to make a move. There was no other choice. He took a jump and began to climb the tower next to him.

 

He clung to the tower and forced himself up the metal structure, as he tried not to focus too much on how Gwen lacked the abilities that he did, as well as what would happen should she fall. There was a moment of sheer terror where he considered what would happen if she slipped on the tower stood, or if the Goblin threw her into the sea below, or even if he decided to kill her outright. It would all be his fault. He had been the one to take off his mask to yell at his friend, just as he had been the one to pace in front of an open door where anyone could see! The Goblin had seen him and recognised him, and now he paid the ultimate price with the life of his first love. Gwen couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her die.

 

“I see you brought back-up!”

 

Spider-Man glanced across to the other tower, where he could see Deadpool attempting a climb of his own. Pepper must have woken him up. It was absolutely fine, because he was already at the top of his tower and about to pull himself to the surface, whereas Deadpool was still only midway and – even if he used his teleporting device – there would be no use for him anyway. Spider-Man would rescue Gwen and he would avenge her injustice by taking the villain into custody.

 

“To think that it was you all this time, Peter!”

 

“Let her go, Goblin, right now!”

 

“Let her go, really?”

 

He stood shakily on his feet. The wind howled all about him and the people below looked like ants milling about in a nest, but with all the cars abandoned it seemed the bridge was now virtually empty. Deadpool was halfway up the Goblin’s tower, whilst in the distance he was certain that he could see Captain America moving at a quick speed towards them, and – no doubt – the other Avengers would follow the moment the opportunity presented itself. The Goblin wouldn’t get away this time.

 

The Goblin gave a long laugh and then shook his arm so that Gwen slipped on the ledge, and – for a brief moment – the only thing that held her in place was the arm of the villain around her waist. It was a moment of sheer terror. He would remember the blood-curdling scream of Gwen until the day he died, and the way that she clung to the man’s arm must have drawn blood from him, to the point that he could see the grimace through the man’s mask and her the hiss to his laughter. The blood seemed to drain from Gwen’s face and he was sure that he saw her swoon slightly, but the Goblin pulled her back just enough for her to regain her footing.

 

Spider-Man felt himself bend forward as he clenched at his stomach, but the cold feeling that swept over him made him feel close to fainting himself. It was a horrific sensation, as if someone had slowly dripped ice water over bare skin, and that was followed by a loss of breath that caused him to feel light-headed. He forced himself to slow his breathing and look up with a shaking gaze to Gwen, who simply mouthed the word ‘help me’ back at him in response. He felt so helpless. He reached out his hand to aim his web-shooter, but realised that his hand was shaking.

 

There was a slight blur just underneath the Goblin. He made the assumption that Deadpool had taken to using his teleporting device, perhaps bored of climbing or perhaps just desperate to get to the action, and yet it barely registered with him. Gwen was in danger and the Goblin had yet to break eye contact with him. The look he gave him was cold and almost pitying, but there was something more than that . . .

 

“Let her go,” Spider-Man begged.

 

The silence was unbearable.

 

Spider-Man heard his heart beat loudly in his ears, so that only the heavy and consistent pulsating noise could be heard, and – as the world around him faded into darkness – he could see just one ray of light. Gwen. It was the only thing that he could think about, because nothing else mattered anymore. He loved her. She was his first love and always would be, to the point he had sacrificed their relationship to be guaranteed of her safety, and that his sacrifice could all be for nought -!

 

It was then that he looked to the Goblin and saw his expression. There was a look of resignation and pity across his features, clear even through the mask that he wore, and something in Spider-Man broke at that expression. He knew. He knew what the Goblin was about to do and he was powerless to stop it. Spider-Man felt his mouth run dry and his whole body begin to sweat, so that he felt more uncomfortable than he had done in his entire life. _No, please God, no._ The moment seemed to stretch out into an eternity, so that he didn’t even notice as Deadpool itched closer. _No . . ._

 

“Forgive me,” said the Goblin.

 

“No,” he muttered.

 

The Goblin gave a sad smile and let go. Gwen seemed to fall in slow motion, whilst he caught a glimpse of Deadpool appearing behind the Goblin to engage in some sort of battle for dominance. He felt light-headed. There was a blur of red and green on the top of the tower, whilst Gwen fell from the heights above . . . he saw the blonde hair wildly blowing in the wind, with black clothing blurring across the blue skyline, and then he realised the dark truth: he couldn’t swing to her in time.

 

“ _No!”_

 

He aimed his web and shot. It was the longest moment of his life, but soon his web reached and attached itself to her ankle, where she continued to fall for a few moments longer until the web reached its end. Gwen was only a few feet from the ground when her descent finally ended. Her body jerked upwards almost violently on the impact of reaching the end of the line, but he had saved her life and that was all that mattered. _He had saved Gwen’s life_.

 

It was a brief second later when he let the web extend and she fell to the ground with a soft drop. Spider-Man looked hard at her, initially worried when he didn’t see any movement from her, but clearly she had just passed out from the stress and terror. He had to go to her, but he couldn’t let the Goblin get away and he didn’t trust Deadpool not to screw up and get temporarily killed, still . . . Gwen had to come first! He remembered everything that Pepper had taught him about helping people and putting others before himself, and how could he forgive himself should she need first-aid and he had put his need for vengeance before her well-being?

 

“Deadpool –!”

 

“I got this,” he shouted. “Get the girl!”

 

Spider-Man didn’t need to be told twice. He watched as the two men fought on the tower beside his, before he then used his webbing and natural abilities to drop down. It was difficult to focus when he felt so dizzy and light-headed, with spots appearing and disappearing in his vision almost like a form of torture, and his body felt weak and lifeless in his exhaustion. Gwen lay perfectly still beneath him, even as he called out to her and came closer. She looked so peaceful.

 

He dropped close to her and quickly ran to her side, even as he heard sirens in the distance and the crowds of people noisily gossiping from either side of the bridge, but he refused to let himself get distracted. Did she need the hospital? No, she was stronger than that and would probably be able to get the next plane out. He would get her to the airport as Spider-Man and say goodbye to her silently as Peter, but she would leave and this would serve as a simple lesson never to risk the lives of his loved ones ever again. He couldn’t lose her.

 

Deadpool suddenly flashed into his vision about halfway down the tower, but it was difficult to see what was happening when the Goblin used his glider to block the sight of his friend. It was a second later that he saw the Goblin’s mask flutter down in wide sweeping arcs, forgotten and lost in the air, where it eventually found a place in a dark and disgusting puddle by one of the abandoned cars. Spider-Man looked up to see a brief flash of brown hair and white skin, but he didn’t look for long.

 

He knelt beside Gwen and gently stroked the hair from her face. It was amazing how beautiful and peaceful she looked, although he was surprised that she hadn’t woken up yet after such trauma . . . he began to feel worried. He smiled awkwardly underneath his mask. There was something wrong with this, but he couldn’t work out what and he needed to get her to safety. He had to protect her.

 

“G-Gwen?” He swallowed hard. “You – you have to wake up.”

 

It was the longest moment of his life. He reached out and shook her shoulder lightly, but she merely rolled onto her side like an old rag-doll. There was a glaze to her open eyes and he realised that she wasn’t blinking, just as her lips remained somewhat parted and pale, and the realisation began to sink in like a heavy blow. It stole his breath and caused him to double over. The nausea came back so that he was sure he would soon be sick, but there was an undying hope . . . it kept him from breaking down into tears and weeping . . . she had to be alive. How could she be dead?

 

“No, oh God, no,” he whispered. “Gwen? Gwen, please!”

 

“Get her out of there!” Deadpool shouted.

 

“She – she’s not moving!”

 

He played it over and over in his head, but the only explanation was that her neck must have broken with the shock of the sudden stop . . . he was the reason she was dead, but he hadn’t the time to swing down and gently stop the fall. No. No, she wasn’t dead. It was just that she had passed out or had injured herself in some way or – or – or something! He leaned his head against her breast. There was no rise and fall to her chest, not even the beating of her heart . . . she was gone . . .

 

 _He had killed her_. If – if he just had kept his face hidden, she would never have been discovered by the Goblin! If he had just reacted quicker than he had, he could have swept and saved her! It – it wasn’t fair -! He just – he didn’t – she . . . she couldn’t be dead . . . her mother and brothers had lost her father already, but – but now they would lose Gwen too? Oh God . . . what would they feel? Who would tell them? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe! He could feel himself panting as his chest became tight, and he knew that he was hyperventilating. It – it scared him. He could feel his fingers closing of their own accord, tight around her upper arms, and the world spun around him. He wanted to be sick. He couldn’t speak.

 

“Don’t die,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry! _I’m so sorry_!”

 

There was a heavy sound to the far side of him. It caused him to shake his head and look around, but the tears in his eyes made the world seem a constant blur. The sound was monstrous, like the sound of meat being tenderised, but with it came a shattering of glass and a car-alarm blaring in a deafening manner. He tried to catch his breath and found the strength to look in the direction of the noise, and at once he caught the reddish blur of Deadpool appearing beside a smashed car, and on the top of the car –

 

“ _Harry_!”

 

_Oh God, no! No, no, no!_

He turned and crawled a few feet away, but he could go no further. He lifted his mask to his nose and let out a foul stream of vomit onto the concrete below. The burning in his throat was second only to the sensation of choking, as his throat constricted and no air could enter, and meanwhile his stomach issued forth intense stabbing pains that made movement impossible. He wiped his mouth and pulled back down his mask.

 

The taste in his mouth lingered, although it threatened to return tenfold when he looked down to see his stomach contents upon the floor, and when he stood it was clear that he hadn’t the strength to stand. He fell to his knees and let out a scream. It was hard to say how long it went on, for time seemed to stand still completely about him, but eventually he felt his throat grow sore and the scream became a series of choked sobs. Why –? Why had this happened? He had failed his friend. He had failed his first love. Harry had become the villain and Gwen had become a victim.

 

“Petey? We have to go.”

 

Spider-Man dropped to all fours. He struggled to breathe once more, but he no longer cared in the slightest. Gwen was dead just a few feet from him, whilst Harry had died on impact and the blood trickled down the side of the car, so that it sounded like a penetratingly loud metronome in his ears. _Drip . . . drip . . ._ he could have prevented this had he just been a better friend. He had spent so much time with Ava and Danny, but Harry he had ignored . . . he had done this . . . _no, it couldn’t be . . ._

“Vigilante? Mercenary? The kid lost his balance, Spidey! A wanted criminal pushes a high-school kid, he slips and falls – _bam_! Oh yeah, it sounds defensible in theory, but please -! Even a guy as rich as me can’t buy that kind of justice!”

 

“It –it’s my fault. I – I killed them. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Me. Push. You. Watch,” Deadpool snapped. “You’re innocent.”

 

“I killed them.”

 

How could he not have seen this coming? He should have been there! If he hadn’t spent so much time with Ava or Wade . . . if he had listened to Harry about his problems with his father and with Spider-Man . . . if he had given Gwen an answer sooner, so she would already be in England . . . if he had hidden his face so Harry wouldn’t have put two and two together -! Oh God. It – it was his fault! How could he have let it get this far? How could he have pushed Harry to this? Harry would never have been on that tower in the first place, not if –

"Dude, I hear sirens!”

 

“I – I just – she – oh God -! _Oh God, oh God_ , I – I don’t –”

 

“Get up, Spidey! There isn’t time to mourn here!”

 

_He should have let Gwen go earlier . . ._

_He should have been a better friend to Harry . . ._

 

He – he might not have been in love with Gwen, but at one point he had and he still loved her so dearly, and Harry had been his greatest and closest friend, almost like a brother, but this -! Why did Harry turn to crime? Why did he kill Gwen? If – if he had just been more attentive -! What if he had never sent her away? It may have been that she would have died feeling loved by him, instead of rejected . . . that may have been her last thought . . . she died alone . . . she died scared . . .

 

“Get the fuck up, Spider-Man!”

 

It was a second later when he was yanked to his feet. There should have been a pain in his chest where the clenched fist caught his skin, just as there should have been a great pain in his back from being shoved so violently against the metal tower, but there wasn’t any pain at all. He felt numb. Gwen . . . Harry . . . how did they feel? Harry must have been lost pretty deeply in despair to turn to crime and murder, all for the attention of just one man too . . . did he miss Peter that much? Oh God, he should have noticed the signs sooner! He – he had lost them -! He had –

 

He reeled a little as Deadpool slapped him rather hard across the face, so that the world seemed to spin around him and caused him to suddenly see what was around him . . . the blood, the bodies . . . he was supposed to be a better person. He hadn’t learned anything. Uncle Ben had died violently due to his irresponsible attitude, so that he had sworn to do better, but he hadn’t done better at all! Gwen – Gwen didn’t deserve this – Harry didn’t –

 

“Petey! _Petey! Peter_!”

 

“You – you don’t – you don’t call me –”

 

“Yeah, well, desperate times call for boring names! Look, see this device here?” He lifted up a dark handheld box. “It’s like the magical box of awesome times! Okay, _except_ for when it malfunctions or when it used to drag Cable along to – okay, you know what? Magic Box of Awesome! It’s going to get us out of here!”

 

Spider-Man looked to Gwen. He had once sworn to always be by her side, but even though he had broken that promise – ending their relationship forever – he had still held a spark of affection for her . . . he still _loved_ her . . . he still swore to always protect her. There was no strength left in his body to walk, let alone to swing safely, but Deadpool . . . even if he could get them away to safety, it wouldn’t be fair to Gwen! She – she shouldn’t be alone . . . he couldn’t leave her!

 

She looked so peaceful, so that she almost appeared to be sleeping. He felt Deadpool loosen his grip, but he had no strength to run or fight . . . he wanted to go to her side and to hold her, even if she could no longer feel him or see him, but the idea of touching her felt blasphemous. He wasn’t worthy of being by her side. He was the one to take her life from her. Those glassy eyes looked to him filled with judgement and fury, as if she somehow spoke to him from beyond the veil . . . he didn’t want to leave her, especially when the last time he did it had ended so badly . . .

 

“I – I can’t leave her, I can’t –”

 

“You don’t have a choice. I’m taking you home.”

 

Deadpool took a hold of his chin and turned him to look at him, even if the fabric of his costume hid the older man’s eyes. It reassured him to see his friend so strong and confident, even in the face of all the death and destruction, but he wanted nothing more than to break away from him. He wanted to hide. He wanted to run. Deadpool had a habit of speaking the truth and the truth was far from what he wanted to hear.

 

“You need to say goodbye, Petey.”

 

“I – I can’t!”

 

The look that Deadpool wore was full of pity. He could see he way his face frowned beneath the mask, as well as feel the way the hands softened considerably in their hold, and suddenly the older man shook his head and lifted the device high so that Spider-Man could see it clearly. The silence was haunting, but the way Deadpool wrapped his arm around his shoulders was both comforting and somewhat devastating. Deadpool pitied him. He began to weep once more.

 

“Yeah, I never liked saying goodbye either,” Deadpool admitted.

 

A push of a button later . . .

 

They were gone.


	11. Chapter 10

# Part One: Chapter Ten

****

“Petey?”

 

Peter rolled onto his side.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone, let alone to listen to their empty platitudes and insincere condolences. The covers over his body felt heavy and suffocating, but there was something oddly comforting about being enveloped in duvets and blankets, and suddenly he felt the tears well in his eyes again. He didn’t deserve any comforts, no matter how small they were. It was his fault that Gwen had died. It was his fault that Harry was gone.

 

There was a rustling noise at the far side of his room, but he kept his back turned to the intruder and sniffled quietly to himself, hoping that no one would hear his cries or seek to try and reassure him. The bedroom was dark. He couldn’t remember at any time in the past week having turned the lights on, but he could remember his mother occasionally walking in and turning them on and off, along with leaving him trays of food on his bedside table. It was all a blur other than that. He couldn’t remember her taking the trays away, just as he couldn’t remember exactly how many days had passed or when was the last time he showered. It was like a bad dream.

 

The rustling noise continued a little longer. There followed a low grunt and a heavy thud, before he heard soft footsteps and heard a solid smack of a body hitting the floor, and he felt the side of his bed dip a little. In the window he saw the reflection of Deadpool’s head leaning on – what he assumed was – his arm upon the bed, whilst he sat half-crouched on the floor beside him. He wore his costume still. He actually smelled nice too, which made Peter feel self-conscious about his own body odour, because a week in bed was bound to make him smell a little ripe.

 

“I heard the funeral was today,” Deadpool said.

 

Peter drew in a staggered breath. It felt as if his heart was locked in a vice, which couldn’t be a good sign in the slightest. He could feel his eyes sting with the burning tears, but he knew that the real reason for the stinging sensation stemmed mostly from how red raw and bloodshot they were, and he suddenly struggled to find breath. He closed his eyes and rolled back to his right side. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Deadpool, simply because he didn’t want any of this to be real.

 

“I snuck into the back,” Deadpool continued. “Nice do for a dead chick! I mean, I’ve been to lots of funerals, but this one was all nice and fancy -! I think she would have liked it, because all girls like lots of flowers and fancy dressed people, right? They held that Harry kid’s afterwards, but at a different church . . . I guess half the folks wanted to go to both, but then half felt it inappropriate to hold them ‘together’.

 

“It makes sense, I suppose, he did kill her after all! I got a cab over to the over church; I kind of expected it to be totally dead, no pun intended, Petey! You know what? Everyone was there! It was like nearly everyone from that Gwen chick’s place went to his too, which really touched his father, you can tell! Heh, ‘touched’, that sounds so totally dodgy out of context! That Harry guy though had a different style, more subdued and traditional, you know? It’s a total downer when everyone is dressed in black and they’re only white lilies about! I whispered that to the old woman next to me, but the bitch slapped me! I kept quiet after that . . . sort of.”

 

Deadpool waved his hand in the air. It was hard for Peter to focus his eyes, although he hadn’t found the energy to focus on anything lately. He could make out his friend acting out the story, including slapping his own face to show what the lady had done, and now he seemed to have remembered that he slapped himself and felt the pain, so that he cradled his cheek and appeared to pout underneath the mask. It brought a broken smile to Peter’s lips, despite how he continued to cry.

 

He then realised that his friends would all still be at the wake. MJ had text him just an hour earlier to say that she planned to spend the night at Gwen’s place, so that her mother wouldn’t be alone and would have a familiar face to share in her grief, whilst Ava had said that everyone in their group had different ways of expressing grief and different cultural traditions, so they planned to spend the rest of the day honouring Gwen’s life and paying their respect in various ways. They had invited him to join them, but he just couldn’t face it. Pepper, May and Tony had stayed home to watch out for Peter, but would they really have let Deadpool see him, of all people?

 

“How’d you get in?” Peter asked.

 

Deadpool laughed loudly and shrugged his shoulders. It was strange to see him in costume in the dark, especially when Deadpool appeared to merge into it like he somehow belonged to the shadows, and the devilish grin could just about be made out from beneath his mask. Peter hadn’t drawn any of his blinds, but he could see every single window was shut closed and J.A.R.V.I.S. hadn’t asked him permission to let anyone enter his room. Heck, he would have had to walk past his family, too.

 

“I used my skills!” Deadpool said.

 

“Skills? What skills?”

 

“That would be telling! We have to have an air of mystery in these things, don’t we! It’s like how a magician never reveals his tricks! Okay, well this _one_ magician did, because he was all on television on stuff, but he wore this mask and –”

 

It was then that Deadpool cocked his head to the side. There was a long moment of silence, before he gave a low sigh and scratched his head. He leaned back against the bedside table and muttered nonsense to himself, almost as if he were having a conversation with the ‘boxes’, and – finally – he gripped the material of his mask and pulled it back. It dangled behind his head like a hood and Wade appeared before him.

 

“I forgot it was dark in here,” he murmured.

 

“Did – did you take your mask off because you think I can’t see you?”

 

“You telling me you can see me, baby boy? You’ve grieved enough for one week! I can easily put the mask back on! It doesn’t hurt me any, but it’s sure as hell nice to let the wounds breathe once in a while! It doesn’t freak you out, does it?”

 

“No. No, it doesn’t freak me out. It’s nice.”

 

“Huh, you must be out of it!”

 

Peter laughed behind his tears. He brought his duvet up to his chin and nuzzled into it, suddenly feeling every bit the child that his parents claimed him to be, and as he breathed in deep he caught the scent of detergent and aftershave. It smelled as if Wade had washed his uniform and freshened himself up, too, which meant that he must truly have worried for Peter to put in such effort. Wade usually thought it too much effort to wipe his lips after eating, let alone to clean up so much as this.

 

It was hard to see his face clearly, but the cancer must not have been so bad today, or perhaps his regenerative abilities had caught up with it to pull it back to its bare minimum, in any case he looked almost handsome in the dark. Peter hated that thought. He hated that he could think anyone attractive after what he had done to Gwen, and he knew that his childish feelings – this growing crush – was disrespectful to her memory and all that they had together. They had broken up, yeah, but this was different! She had died. He had killed her! He had no right to be happy. He had no right to see Wade’s nervous smile and to think such thoughts!

 

“Hey,” Wade said. “They told me you weren’t talking!”

 

“I – I wasn’t,” Peter admitted. “MJ has been around for about an hour every day. Ava and Danny have come every other day to spend the morning with me. Ava – she – she even dragged Sam here at one point, and he – he was nice about it all . . . he said he didn’t want to stop by as he didn’t know what to say, but he had bought some gifts to give me when he saw me next. Luke came around, too.”

 

“It sounds like you’ve had a lot of guests! Man, that would drive me insane! It’s like how Cable used to come in uninvited and stuff . . . I nearly blasted his head off once, because I was so taken by surprise! You like being around people though, don’t you? You can trust them . . . must be nice . . .”

 

“It – it is. My aunt crashed here for a few nights too. I haven’t been alone.”

 

“Sure sounds like you feel alone, though.”

 

“I guess I do.”

 

The truth was that he didn’t deserve their sympathy. It was frustrating to have his family by his side all the time, because he just wanted to be left alone with his pain, especially when – with every tear – he could see their hearts break for him. It seemed that all he could do was to cause pain, and to just have them around was a constant reminder of that. He felt that he had to try to be strong around them, to make it easier for them, but he hadn’t the strength to even try. He failed even at that.

 

“I can talk to you,” Peter muttered.

 

“Yeah? I don’t see why. I never shut up and –”

 

“– and you don’t treat me like glass. You – you just treat me like a person. I – I appreciate that honesty . . . that space . . . you gave me time to just feel, but when you came here you didn’t spout useless lies. You didn’t try to make it all go away, because you know it won’t go away and I -! I don’t know! I’m so fed up of people telling me that it’ll be okay! It’s never going to be okay!”

 

“You’re right there, Petey. It won’t ever be okay. It’ll always hurt, because if it didn’t then she obviously wouldn’t have meant much to you. They’ll come a day when you feel happy and forget all about her, and then you’ll feel like shit for having forgotten her, like all guilty and crap . . . but one day -? Yeah, it’ll be better.”

 

“How? How will it be better?”

 

“One day you’ll realise that if you really love her, that you’d honour her by doing the things that’d make her happy . . . she’d only be happy to know that you’re happy, right? I mean she was a good person, that’s why you’re so sad, and good people want people to be happy! You’ll start to feel at peace remembering her, instead of like you’ve just eaten glass, then you’ll meet new people and date them too, because life goes on and if you stopped living then you’d be throwing a gift away, one that she didn’t get to have, and that’s the biggest disrespect at all. You’ll move on.”

 

Peter gave a small frown. It was strange to hear Wade speaking so deeply and so meaningfully, especially when the older man was usually the bad influence or the hyperactive one that spewed nothing but nonsense. He looked to Wade and saw those brown eyes half-focussed on some distant spot in his room, but he was too tired to sit up and see what held the man’s attention, and a part of him felt as if Wade looked away solely to avoid looking at him. He wondered how Wade felt.

 

“How’d you get past my parents?” Peter asked.

 

Wade let out a rather deafening laugh. It was enough to make Peter smile in turn, because to see the little crinkles around his friend’s eyes and mouth reminded him of the Wade that he knew so well. He sometimes forgot how dangerous and intelligent that the older man could be, so that his ‘stupidity’ was often clearly an act, but sometimes he equally forgot that there were two sides to Wade, each equally as real.

 

It was then Wade cricked his neck and reached into one of his pouches, where he pulled out a blue crayon with a flourish, and then he began to dig around again until he had a full set by the side of him along with the carton. There followed a portable radio, where he had used masking tape and crayon to label his name, and along with an A5 notebook. He watched as Wade adjusted himself and began to open his notebook, inside which there appeared to be dozens of doodles, and Peter couldn’t help but lean over the side to get a better look. He then lay back down again.

 

“I didn’t!” Wade said with a laugh.

 

“You’re in my room and you didn’t get in by the windows.”

 

“I told you that’s a secret! Damn, you’re so stupid when your brain’s all melted with sadness and stuff! You think your parents would want a forty-year-old man in their sixteen-year-old son’s room, alone and unsupervised, with him half-naked in bed and grieving the loss of his girlfriend? You’re crazy! I mean _I’m_ crazy and _I’d_ still gut the son-of-a-bitch that tried that with my kid! Innocent or not!”

 

“Then how did you -? Oh God . . . they don’t know that you’re in here! T-they believed Aunt May when she told them that you were a good man and could be trusted, but if they find you in here then they’ll never believe her about it ever again! Dad will kill you, then he’ll kill me for not having kicked you out, and –”

 

“Relax! They’re in bed! I scoped the place for an hour before breaking in!”

 

“Y-you -! Oh, _what’s the point_?”

 

Peter rolled onto his back with a heavy thud. It was enough to make him pout and stare hard at the ceiling awkwardly, but he didn’t want to shout at Wade for taking such risks when it would risk waking his parents in itself. He was too tired to deal with Tony and Wade fighting, just as he couldn’t bear the thought of enduring his mother’s empty words, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a small bit grateful for this distraction. Wade reminded him of normalcy. He could almost pretend as if nothing had gone wrong, as if this were a normal day. It made him smile weakly, as he felt a hot tear slide down the side of his face. Why couldn’t he save Gwen?

 

There was a sudden wave of intense guilt, as he thought back to that day and all that he had lost. He could have prevented her death! If he had been a better friend for Harry, just been there to listen to him and support him, and then maybe he could have stopped him from impersonating the Goblin and hurting Gwen. The worst part was the unanswered question: why? He would never know why Harry had done what he had done, what Peter had done to earn such pain . . . he would never know!

 

He ran a hand over his face and realised that he had been sweating nervously, which – when combined with the near constant tears – lent a horrible sensation to the palm of his hand, and he couldn’t help but feel his stomach churn. There was an eerie silence about the room, but one broken only by the ticking of a clock on his computer desk and the low humming of Wade. It sounded like he was singing along to an old pop song, but Peter had never really kept up-to-date with music and spent his free time studying science with Bruce or his dad, and when he realised that Gwen would have known . . . the guilt ate at him again.

 

“Why are you here, Wade?”

 

“You blame yourself, don’t you?” Wade asked. “You feel like you’ve lost the only connection to happiness you have. Gwen depended on you and relied on you, but you feel like you failed her and her loss is your fault. I’m right, right?”

 

Wade ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook. He screwed it into a ball and then threw it across the room into a wastepaper basket, where he then thrust his hand into the air with a loud cheer. Peter had to smile, simply as it was an excellent shot, but – even if Wade had excellent hand-eye coordination – it didn’t do much to change anything that he felt and all the people that he had failed. He wanted to hide into himself. He wanted Wade to leave him to his misery.

 

“I’m going to tell you a story, kid,” said Wade. “You tell anyone and I’ll make you wish that _you_ were the dead one, you hear me? It’s a totally awesome story of murder, mayhem and rage -! _Way to sell it, man!_ Should we be telling this story? You guys can shove it! This back-story is way better than the one about the radioactive pool or the ninja baby or – or – or -! Huh? What was I saying? Oh yeah! This is top-secret, all right, baby boy? It has a point though, I swear! I can trust you, can’t I?”

 

“I – er – guess? You can trust me, but . . . I’m really not up to hearing long stories. I – I don’t want you to think that I don’t care, but it’s just – it’s just that – it’s so hard to concentrate and so hard to care about _anything._ You don’t know what it’s like. It’s like – it’s like any time I’m happy or distracted . . . I’m desecrating her memory! I killed her. It’s my fault she’s dead! I don’t deserve to be happy.”

 

“See, you think you’re the only person to ever feel that way?”

 

“You kill people for money, Wade.”

 

“ _Killed_. I _killed_ for money.”

 

Wade continued to doodle on his paper, but this time his expression was cold and dark. It was possible that he had offended the older man, especially when it was well-known that Wade was trying to be a hero and tried his best not to kill anyone, and Peter’s words suddenly felt like a huge accusation with that knowledge. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend, but there was so much anger at that moment. Wade didn’t deserve it, but he knew that –

 

“I signed up for Weapon X.”

 

He spoke so abruptly that it made Peter jump. It was almost as if he hadn’t spoken at all, especially the way that he continued to draw absentmindedly and felt it necessary to say sound-effects aloud. He would sweep his arm out with a ‘whoosh’ and stab the paper with a ‘bam’, and for a while Peter wondered if Wade had even been aware of what he had said. It was awkward to break the silence, but Peter felt it necessary.

 

“I’ve heard of that, it’s –”

 

“It’s bullshit, whatever you heard,” Wade snapped. “I was diagnosed with cancer, but terminal cancer . . . life was pretty shit before that point, but it’s not like we don’t all have issues! Oh, yeah . . . I had this girlfriend at the time, too. The chick was smoking hot and had the soul of an angel, plus she was my first love, a lot like you and that Gwen girl, but it’s not like I could have stayed with her. I didn’t want her wasting her life looking after a sick man or grieving my death. I dumped her.

 

“I figured that I had nothing to lose, at that point! I’d join Weapon X and maybe – _just maybe_ – they could cure me and I could go back to getting with the ladies and slaying all the dudes! I had super, special, awesome skills already! I was the best assassin that the world had ever seen! I got there and they picked me for whatever crap they were doing, but – I don’t know – the healing factor they gave me . . . I won’t bore you with the details, because you don’t want those! You want the action and adventure! I don’t blame you! The healing factor fused with my cancer . . . the two became synonymous, so getting rid of one would mean getting rid of the other. It’d be like Captain America without the Falcon, or Deadpool without his awesome!

 

“So yeah, they eventually realised they screwed up. Plus, who wants a mentally unstable freak working for the government? I was a bit weird before, but then came the boxes and I saw the continuities and suddenly it was like ‘whoa’, and they kept telling me my brain was swollen with the tumours and in flux, but please -! I’m just so awesome that I can break the fourth wall, that’s all! So they sent me to some hospital place. It was supposed to be a nice and cosy place for the rejects to get better, but you can probably guess that I don’t have many happy endings! Well, I have _some_.”

 

He winked at Peter.

 

The younger boy blushed and sat up. He felt a little self-conscious when clad only in shorts, but it was worth it when he grabbed a pillow from the empty side of the bed and smacked Wade hard over the head. The mercenary laughed wildly in return and snatched the pillow up, before he threw it back without even a look to Peter. It was then he felt a wave of guilty nausea. He had forgotten for a moment that he was meant to be grieving. He forgot Gwen. It was just a moment, but it was there. He forgot her!

 

“You can’t beat a happy ending, Petey!” Wade continued. “Ha, I kill me! I guess you _can_ beat one, now I think about it, and at your age it’s probably all you do! Anyway, where was I? Yeah, the hospital . . . they weren’t really bothered about healing us, more that they wanted to experiment on us. Why were we failures? What could be done to make us work? It was torture, literally. I won’t bum you out when you’re already pretty low, but . . . it was bad. They actually made a pool on who would be the first to die . . . guess where the guy with healing factors came in?

 

“The dead pool . . . I hated that shit. I would watch everyone in there die off one by one . . . it’s where I fell in love with Death . . . both small ‘d’ and the big ‘D’, but I guess it wasn’t my time to be with her. I wanted to die, but I couldn’t. I escaped into fantasy. I escaped with her into wonderful dream worlds. I had one friend though, if you can call him that . . . another patient . . . he was alright, I guess.”

 

Wade flipped the page of his pad. He began drawing again, but this time it seemed to be obscene drawings that Peter was fairly certain that he shouldn’t be looking at, especially when he was also certain that Wade wasn’t aware that the younger boy was peering over his shoulder. Peter flopped back down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, where dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars were stuck to the surface in a mock-up of his favourite constellations. Gwen had called him a dork when she saw them.

 

He tried so hard to process what Wade was telling him, but the thought of the older man suffering in any way or form -! It was hard to bear. It made him feel helpless and powerless, because he was supposed to be the hero and he could do nothing to protect Wade from that pain, because . . . because it was all in the past. He couldn’t imagine a time when he would ever be able to mention Gwen’s name without crying, let alone how he could have spoken so nonchalantly about disease, imprisonment and torture in Wade’s place. Did Wade think of this as an ordinary occurrence? Did he think of it as something barely worth a second-thought? He must have had a hard life indeed. It made Peter rethink all those bad jokes about his childhood completely . . .

 

It was then Wade let out a small and derisive snort. Peter winced and felt-conscious for a moment, before he realised that Wade wasn’t mocking him . . . Wade was mocking himself. He could see the pain in those brown eyes, even through the dark, as well as how he held his crayon so tightly that it must have taken all his self-control not to snap it, and his lips were pursed into a tight line. A few seconds later, the crayon snapped in two. Wade swore under his breath and rubbed at his face. The pain hadn’t left him at all. He was just good at hiding the pain.

 

“I couldn’t cope, Petey,” said Wade. “I was suicidal _before_ I got in there. There was this assistant of the doctor in charge, a guy called Francis, and he made the inmates’ lives hell. They didn’t have a voice. They didn’t have any free will. They were locked up and experimented on like rats in a lab, but they wanted to live and I -? I didn’t! I taunted Francis. I undermined him and said what they wanted to say. I said what they were too scared to say. I gave them hope.

 

“There came a point where I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted Francis to kill me. I wanted to die. I made it my mission to drive him into a homicidal rage, so I would chant his name over and over . . . _Francis, Francis, Francis_ . . . he would ignore me, and so I would continue . . . _Francis, Francis, Francis . . ._ it went on for days and days and days. He came up to me one day . . . _Francis, Francis, Francis_ . . . he reached out to me slowly . . . _Francis, Francis_ . . . then he grabbed my friend . . . _Francis_. I only had one friend! He tortured him. He hurt him. He told me that it was my fault and yet my friend . . . he was brave! He told me not to give in. He told me not to give in to a fucking shit like Francis, because I was their only hope.

 

“I got cocky. _Francis, Francis, Francis, Francis, Francis . . ._ oh yeah, it drove him fucking crazy all right! It drove him so fucking crazy that he tortured my friend some more and then lobotomised him. He lobotomised him, Petey! I – I couldn’t believe it. He was like a shell of what he was . . . he had this – this _creepy_ smile, like the world didn’t mean shit to him any more, but you know what he remembered? _Francis_. What could I do, Petey? I let myself wallow in self-pity, to the point that I got my friend turned into a walking zombie! I did what I had to do.

 

“I broke his neck.”

 

Peter swallowed hard. It was impossible to imagine that kind of pain, especially with the guilt and shame he felt at having indirectly caused the death of his girlfriend and best friend . . . the idea of directly causing them harm was something beyond his comprehension. He already felt the urge to crawl inside himself and hide from the world, but had he killed someone – intentionally and with forethought – then he didn’t know what he would have done. Wade had a lot of inner demons.

 

He knew that Wade had done what he thought best, in order to spare his friend a lifetime of misery and a fate worse than death, but to know that he was the one to put his friend in that position to start with -! Wade knew. He knew exactly what Peter felt, but unlike Peter he had added guilt on top of that and the pain of his personal circumstances added to those memories. How did he sleep with those thoughts racing through his head? How did he smile so often when he had such pain in his heart? Peter couldn’t understand. It was just so awful that he felt a sharp pain of guilt at ever having thought his problems could compare, because this was so much worse. He didn’t know what to say. He said the only thing that he could.

 

“Wade, I’m so –”

 

“The point is simple, baby boy,” Wade continued. “I know what it’s like. You acted badly and your friends suffered for your fuck-up, which hurts like hell . . . you’ll live with that guilt until the day you die. You’ll want to hurt the people that hurt you times a million, because it’s more fun to laugh at the pain than to feel it, and eventually the pain will consume you and you’ll be angry. Anger is easier to deal with. The thing is though . . . you didn’t do shit. You didn’t kill anyone.

 

“It’s like I said before: the only guy that’s guilty is the one that pulls the trigger. You won’t believe that though, because you’re a good guy and it’s your job to feel responsible for the world’s problems, because you think you have a duty to fix the world and everyone in it. You can’t heal everyone, Petey, but you can heal yourself. Don’t let the guilt make you a shell of yourself . . . don’t let the pain turn you crazy. I don’t even know who I am any more! I know who _you_ are though. You’re the guy that’s going to learn from this and grow from this and use it to help people. You’ll save lives. You’ll make amends. You’ll be a perfect hero. That’s who you are.”

 

“If that’s who I really am, why couldn’t I save her?”

 

“You’re a hero, not god.”

 

Wade rolled his eyes. It was something that Peter nearly missed in the dark, which made him wonder how many times he had earned an eye-roll and missed it underneath the mask, but Wade otherwise sat beside his bed and didn’t move from the floor in the least. The only change in his behaviour was that he dropped his notepad beside him and cricked his neck, which let out a sickeningly loud pop. Peter tried not to flash back to the sound that Gwen had let out. He hadn’t noticed the snap at the time, only in his memory, so that he wondered if he imagined it. He couldn’t –

 

“You can’t save everyone, Peter.”

 

It was said so matter-of-factly that Peter found himself almost believing it, but no sooner had he processed those words did Wade pull his mask back on. He could no longer see those brown eyes with a very slight green hue, almost hazel in the right light, and he could no longer see those full lips aside from their outline on the fabric. He missed looking at Wade, but he knew that Deadpool would never believe him should he admit that aloud. He couldn’t blame him.

 

They sat in silence for a long while, until Deadpool stood up with a flourish and started doing some unusual stretches. It wasn’t as if the floor was uncomfortable at all, least of all when Wade hadn’t been sitting there all that long, relatively speaking, and yet the older man acted as if he had just woken from a month-long coma. He tried not to smile as Deadpool began to jog on the spot, before he then did a few star-jumps and spun around rather dramatically. He gave a big smile beneath his mask. It was enough to reassure Peter and caused him to cuddle up underneath the covers, where he moved closer to the edge of the bed out of instinct. Deadpool frowned at that, however, as if he saw Peter’s comfort around him as some sort of threat.

 

“Time to go, Petey!”

 

“No! No, please! Just until I fall asleep?”

 

Deadpool let out a long groan. He dropped the top half of his body forward, much like a marionette with its strings cut, and his arms drooped lifelessly in front of him. It was a little spooky when he lifted his head, because it contorted him at impossible angles and made him appear broken, but Peter could sense a sort of darkness behind the façade of joviality. It was as if he was angry with Peter, but that couldn’t be right, could it? It wasn’t as if he had asked of Deadpool more than he could give.

 

“Alright, but I’ll be gone when you wake up!”

 

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Wade.”

 

“Don’t get sentimental on me!”

 

“Promise.”

 

He heard Deadpool mutter something about it being inappropriate, followed by the words ‘Stark’, ‘castrate’ and ‘cattle-prod’. Peter didn’t really wish to try and work out what was being said, but he could assume what the other man’s problem was quite easily, and – frankly – he was just so grateful to not be alone that it was hard to worry about anything else. _Deadpool understood_. He didn’t have to fall asleep knowing that he was alone physically and emotionally, because he understood.

 

Deadpool dropped down and sat cross-legged on the floor. He had his back to the edge of the bed, so that Peter couldn’t see his face or what he was doing, but at once he began to snatch up his notebook and began to draw, but this time with such concentration that he seemed to truly be creating something of worth. Peter didn’t remember how much time passed . . . he just remembered the past week finally caught up with him . . . the tears, the exhaustion, and the heartache . . . it was too much. He felt safe with Deadpool beside him, so that he felt he could finally close his eyes . . .

 

 _Sleep came quickly_ . . .

 

He woke up to sunlight streaming into his room. It blinded him when he opened his eyes and found his windows all opened, letting in fresh air, and it made his stomach growl when he realised that there was a tray of hot food next to him on his bedside table. He looked down to see that he was wearing a new pyjama set, which made him panic for a moment and wonder who had changed him, and when he looked up – expecting and hoping to see Wade – he saw Pepper instead.

 

“Hey,” Pepper said. “How are you feeing?”

 

“M-mom?” Peter asked groggily. “I – I’m fine.”

 

She sat next to him on the bed so that he could feel the mattress dip, but she reached out and put the back of her hand upon his forehead, as if she tested for a temperature or to check for illness. It was clear that she was satisfied that he was okay, at which point she helped him to sit up and fluffed the pillows behind him, and then slid the tray of food onto his lap. He gave it a passing glance and saw that she had made him a full breakfast, as well as left his mail upright between the glasses of juice and water.

 

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, again,” she confessed.

 

“S-sorry, I just . . . I needed some time to think. I didn’t mean to shut you guys out, but there just didn’t seem much to say . . . I didn’t really have the energy to talk. I – er – really should apologise to everyone, but . . . I mean . . .”

 

“Relax,” she said. “You don’t need to explain anything, Peter. Just promise me that you’ll talk to your dad, okay? He loves you. I know you think he might not understand, but he still suffers himself for the choices he made in his past, even the things that weren’t his fault. I know he likes to appear strong and the perfect hero, but he has nightmares too and panic attacks at the more inopportune times. He’ll understand, I promise you. He’s already done a lot for you.”

 

“I know he has,” replied Peter. “I appreciate it, I honestly do. I guess it couldn’t have been that easy to change a teenager, plus – judging by the burnt smell – he at least helped with breakfast too, but . . . I’m not ready to talk to anyone just yet. I – I think I’ll take a shower later though . . . maybe join you guys for dinner.”

 

“The small steps lead to big changes,” she whispered.

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Here.”

 

There was a slight rustle of movement, but she was dressed quite casually and in a long coat that indicated she planned to go out at some point. It meant that she had plenty of pockets and plenty of space to hide items, which was evident when she reached to an inside pocket and pulled out a sheath of folded paper, which seemed to have something written on the outside in red. She handed it to him, after which she adjusted her coat so that she continued to look both fashionable and professional.

 

“I hid it before your father could see it,” Pepper admitted.

 

He took the paper from her. It was very bad quality, as well as folded in a very messy and uneven manner, and on the outside – written in crayon – was the simple word ‘Petey’ written in red. Peter smiled and felt an intense gratitude that his mother had hidden the paper, because he otherwise would have woken up to Tony screaming and then demanding he be tested for drugs or secret chip implants. He was sure his mother had a few questions herself, but at least she knew to trust in his abilities. There wasn’t any way that Wade would be able to hurt him, least of all without Peter managing to attract the attention of J.A.R.V.I.S. or Tony, and she knew this well.

 

Peter opened the paper and felt breathless. It was a very simple picture of Spider-Man in reds and blues and blacks, so that it could have very easily have been drawn by a child no older than five or six, but it wasn’t the artistic quality that caused the tears to rise to his eyes. It was the words that touched him. There – written in red crayon – at the top of the page were two very simple words: ‘my hero’.

 

“I thought it might cheer you up,” she said.

 

“He – he was drawing this? I thought he – that he –”

 

The tears fell fast and blinded him. He choked back a small sob and clutched the paper to his chest, ever so grateful for his friends and his family, because the drawing – so simple and so basic – expressed a world of feelings where Wade was concerned. He cared about Peter, which was far more than Peter deserved. There was also the small and niggling guilt that this one drawing meant more to him than all the gifts from his friends combined, and he could no longer avoid the simple fact: he had a crush on Wade. He betrayed Gwen with just the thought. How could he feel this way with her still warm in the ground? He hated himself. He hated that he felt this way.

 

“I – I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry!”

 

“Shush, Peter. Never apologise for how you feel.”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .”

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was intended to have an explicit solo scene, but I felt it kind of got in the way of plot. 
> 
> I'll use that scene as a short one-shot when the story is complete.

# Part Two: Chapter Eleven

 

 _Seventeen_ . . .

 

Peter gave a sad smile. It was hard to see with his arm draped across his eyes, but frankly it gave him a small reprieve from his guilt. He still couldn’t believe it had been nearly a year since the deaths of Gwen and Harry; every day at school he looked at their empty chairs and at home he reread their messages over and over, and any time he saw their parents he felt a sense of shame unlike any other. It had become a little easier, but barely. He still felt the loss.

 

He gave a sigh and moved his arm, so that he could turn his head to see his bookcase to the far right of his room, upon which sat an array of cards and unopened presents. The cards he had opened on receiving. He had laughed on seeing how Sam and MJ had signed their card together, before he shed a small tear that he had to excuse as one of happiness. Peter envied her ability to move on. It was hard to picture himself in a new relationship, because it felt such an intense betrayal of what he had with Gwen, and any time he spent . . . _alone_ . . . was usually followed by tears of shame. It felt wrong to think of anyone else than Gwen. How did Mary Jane move on?

 

The card from his parents was by far the largest, which was actually the size of his door and blocked out a lot of light, whilst the one from Danny was homemade and seemed to have a lot of time put into its creation. Peter’s favourite – which made him laugh whenever he saw it – was Wade’s card. It was a large and expensive card, but underneath the huge ‘Congratulations’ the words ‘on your’ were crossed out, so that the phrase ‘baby boy’ was all that was left. He wasn’t sure if Wade had bought the wrong card by mistake and sought to correct it, or whether it was intentional.

 

_‘Peter, Mary Jane is here!’_

He gave a sigh and looked across his room to the small hallway, although ‘hallway’ was probably the wrong word for a two-foot square space, but it served to separate his tiny _en suite_ from the main space of his room. There was no way to see the door itself, but he was pretty sure it was still locked and it would mean getting up to unlock it. Peter gave a sigh and sat up. The truth was that he didn’t want anyone in his room anyway, especially when it was so messy and filled with science experiments.

 

“I’ll be out in a minute! I’ll meet MJ in the kitchen!”

 

_‘Okay, don’t be too long, Peter!’_

There was a sudden silence. He listened as his mother’s footsteps faded away, but he realised that he couldn’t lounge in bed for much longer. It was with a long and heavy sigh that he pulled himself out of bed, as he cursed how both his mother and best friend could both be such morning people, but he ignored the thought to try and concentrate on getting quickly changed. He would need to be decent to see them.

 

Peter dropped a tissue into the waste-paper basket beside him, before he changed into a smart – yet casual – outfit for the day. He cricked his back as he stood, as he ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out, and then gave a nervous look to his bedside table and scanned the contents. It wasn’t as if he had anything to hide, but . . . Peter bit his lip and lifted the photo of Gwen back to its standing position, so that way it wasn’t face down upon the tabletop. It wasn’t often he hid her photo like that, but he sometimes hated the idea of her watching him. The guilt was worse than the shame.

 

_'Peter -'_

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Jeez!”

 

He grabbed his phone quickly to shove into his pocket, and then ran towards his door and headed out into the hallway. It was a little embarrassing to stumble in his haste, but luckily no one was around to notice him, and he found his way into the kitchen in almost record time. He took a seat at the far end of the table, somewhere between both Pepper and Mary Jane, and snatched a slice of toast from the rack in the centre of the full spread. It seemed he made it just in time.

 

It was hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand, but he could make out the general gist of what was happening . . . Mary Jane appeared to be discussing her date with Sam, whilst his mother occasionally offered advice and anecdotes about her dates with Tony . . . Peter stifled a yawn and grabbed a plate. He began to load it with eggs and sausages and bacon, as well as beans and tomatoes, even as Mary Jane curled her lip in mild disgust over her bowl of cereal. It wasn’t his fault! He’d been starving ever since being forced to stay awake all night listening to Wade.

 

“Gee, Peter, hungry much?” MJ asked.

 

“I can’t help it! I’m a growing boy, you know? Wade is _still_ four inches taller than me, which is pretty embarrassing when the bad guys appear and I have to _look up_ at him! How is he going to stop seeing me as a kid when I’m so shorter than him?”

 

“You’re seventeen, Peter,” said Pepper. “I know you think that you’re a grown-up now, but you still have so much to learn. You’re not even legal to drink, let alone old enough to complain about still being seen as a child . . . do you know many adults complaining that their friends are slightly taller than them? I don’t.”

 

“I know, but –! Hey, what’s with the huge breakfast, anyway?”

 

“Birthday breakfast for the birthday boy!”

 

Pepper took a bite of her pancake. It was clear that the giant spread wasn’t quite her idea, as well as the fact that half of it seemed to be missing, and when he looked there was a small pile of presents off to one side. He dropped his head forward with a long groan of disbelief. It was just like last year! Ava, Luke, Sam and Danny had obviously been around to eat absolutely everything and anything, before leaving before he had even woken up. All he needed was to be grounded and it would _exactly_ like last year!

 

“Who made it this time?”

 

“I helped Danny with the cooking,” said Mary Jane. “Sam baked you a cake, but if I were you then I probably wouldn’t eat it. I wasn’t able to watch him between making all these different foods, and – well – I’m _pretty_ sure he confused the salt and sugar. It wasn’t his fault . . . we were all sharing the work surfaces, plus Ava and Luke were getting in the way laying the tables . . . just pretend it tasted great, okay?”

 

“Huh? Er, yeah, sure. Wow. I didn’t expect him to go to any special effort, but that was kind of nice of him. Remind me to thank him later, okay? I mean, it would have been nice had they _stayed_ , but I guess I’ll see them at the party at May’s tonight.”

 

“You know about the party? It was meant to be a surprise!”

 

“Yeah, well, keeping secrets is one more thing your boyfriend sucks at!”

 

“Well, now you’ve had your lie-in,” Pepper interrupted, “you can help with the clean-up once you’ve finished eating breakfast. I know you’re pretty intent on being seen as an adult now, but part of being an adult is cleaning up after your friends make a mess in your kitchen. I really do have to ask though, but why is it so important to you lately to be seen as a grown-up? It never bothered you before.”

 

He blushed and looked down at his plate. The truth was that he had been meaning to talk to them about that exact subject, but he had put it off out of fear that the inevitable conversation that would follow. How could he tell them the truth? He wanted to be more grown-up for Wade, because Wade – even if Peter was of legal age and more mature than the man himself – still saw him as a kid in need of protection, which wasn’t exactly the best way or _any_ way to begin a relationship, and yet -! He didn’t want to discuss his sexuality, let alone risk them worrying about him, and what if word got back to Wade and he avoided Peter from that moment onwards?

 

The aroma of the food was strong, so that he couldn’t help but to feel his mouth water and to take a few bites to distract himself, and he felt incredibly grateful that he had such thoughtful friends that would go to this kind of trouble. He could even see a tray of sliced fruits, probably an idea of Ava’s, and he felt a little guilty that he had overslept and missed them. He would need to make it up to them. It tasted so delicious too, almost professionally made.

 

They sat quietly about the table, obviously giving him the space he needed to tell them what the issue was in his own time. He felt Mary Jane give him a small kick under the table, but when he looked up and saw her face it was clear why . . . she nodded subtly in Pepper’s direction. It was obvious that his mother was a little worried. There wasn’t a panic or a sense of urgency there, but simply a deep concern that most mothers would have for their sons. Pepper knew he had suffered a lot. He had never been alone with her by his side, but he had changed lately. It worried her.

 

“Er, can I tell you guys something . . . in confidence?”

 

There probably wasn’t a better time to bring the subject up. He had learned from his past enough to be more honest and open with his parents, because he knew just how badly secrets could hurt those closest to him. He knew that Mary Jane was pretty worldly and the loss of Gwen and Harry had affected her too, as they had been her best friend and her boyfriend, and he knew that his mother had a great sympathy and understanding for all her had been through. He trusted them.

 

“Sure, Peter,” said MJ. “You can trust me!”

 

“Well,” Pepper replied, “you can tell me anything, you know that, but I won’t keep a secret that puts you at risk in any way. If it’s something that hurts you or puts you in danger, I would have to tell your father.”

 

“It – it’s nothing like that! It’s just – it’s just lately . . . okay, I guess I have his crush on someone . . . someone really important to me . . . so I just want to be more – you know – mature and stuff, so that way they won’t see me as just some stupid kid. I – hate saying this in front of MJ, but I just feel . . . I don’t know . . . so _guilty_ though! I loved Gwen so much, but this – this feels like such a betrayal! It’s like – it’s like I’m forgetting her, but I can’t stay alone forever, can I? I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Oh, Peter,” said Pepper kindly. “Gwen loved you dearly, you must know that. I know it still hurts, but she would have wanted you to move on with your life and to be happy. This girl you like – whoever she is – is worth chasing after, especially if she’s the one that’s been making you smile so much lately . . . do what feels right, Peter.”

 

“Is it too soon though? It feels like I’m _replacing_ her!”

 

“I know how you feel,” said MJ.

 

Mary Jane pushed her cereal bowl away from her. It was then that he noticed how MJ was dressed quite smartly, with new jeans and a top that clung to her perfectly, and he found himself suddenly confused. He could never _actually_ feel anything for her, simply because she was too much like a sister to him, but he could admire her and he could feel things for other women too. It was clear that he couldn’t be gay, but then he had rarely felt anything for other men than Wade. He found himself lost in thought as he tried desperately to find a label to define himself. It felt as if it would be easier with a box to fit into, because he felt lost otherwise . . .

 

He cleared his throat and remembered the issue at hand; there would probably be time to discuss his sexuality and feelings for Wade later, and he was extremely interested in what his friend had to say about it all. Mary Jane had been through the exact same things that he had, so he really appreciated her opinion on it all. He looked to her and saw her look down at her hands with a sad smile and embarrassed gaze. It seemed that she was lost in thought and memories.

 

“How did you deal with it?” Peter asked.

 

“I guess by reminding myself that it was okay to love again,” she confessed. “There came a day when I realised that I can love Harry and still love someone else too . . . a little like how you can have more than one friend, or how you can respect both your parents. You can love more than one person. I don’t have to choose between Harry and Sam, because I can love them both. My happiness with Sam doesn’t erase what Harry and I had, just as my love for Harry doesn’t demean my relationship with Sam.

 

“I don’t know, Peter. It may have been different had Harry and I not broken up before his death . . . the guilt may have been worse. I just know that I can’t put my life on hold for him. That may be right for some people, but it’s not right for me and it wouldn’t be something that he would have wanted either. The heart wants what it wants, and it’s hardly cheating when you were broken up in the first place and in the second . . . they’re gone! We’ll never get them back, just as we’ll never really know what they think about it, but we can allow ourselves to be happy, because _we survived_! If we let the part of ourselves that loves die too . . . why live at all?”

 

“I guess,” Peter admitted. “It just feels like I don’t deserve to be happy, because I still can’t get over it. I just keep thinking that if I had been a better friend or boyfriend, maybe they’d still be alive! I know now it’s irrational, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling that way. I _want_ to confess to him, but a part of me worries how he –”

 

“Sorry, Peter,” interrupted Pepper. “You said ‘he’? Do you have feelings for a man?”

 

“Oh! Is it who I think it is?” Mary Jane asked.

 

Peter groaned and let his head fall forward. This wasn’t really the way he pictured telling his mother and best friend, especially when he still couldn’t quite work out the words to properly express his feelings. There was a sound somewhere far off like a door closing, which made Peter paranoid all of a sudden, simply because he wasn’t ready to tell his father or Bruce or the rest of his friends . . . he would tell them eventually, but only once he had worked out his feelings first.

 

“I – er – kind of do?”

 

“Peter,” said Pepper firmly. “There is absolutely no shame in having feelings for another man, but this is the first time that I’ve ever heard you mention this. I have to admit that it’s a little bit of a shock. Are you certain about what you feel? I can’t say that I’ve ever had those kinds of feelings myself, but – if you want to talk to someone who has been through the same thing – I know people you can talk with.”

 

“N-no! God no! It’d be too embarrassing to talk about with anyone! I – I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past year, plus I looked it up a lot online, and I think . . . I think I may be bisexual? I mean . . . what I felt for Gwen was real, but what I feel for him is real too. I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.”

 

“So you’ve had these thoughts and feelings for a while?”

 

“Yeah, but I never said anything to him about it all.”

 

“What made you feel that you couldn’t tell him?”

 

Peter shrugged. There were so many reasons why he was unable to tell Wade, but not least because Wade had made it clear that Peter was too young to consider a potential romantic interest. There had been the lecture that he had given to Tony about how insulting it was to even insinuate that he would, as well as how he refused to stay in Peter’s room at night or for longer than half-an-hour or so at a time, and he had even cut back on his flirting a substantial amount. Peter knew he stood no chance.

 

The only hope he had was that Wade might _finally_ see him as an adult now, because he was _finally_ no longer ‘jail-bait’. There was the small risk that Wade might still see him as a ‘kid’, because they had spent the past few years together as friends, but considering he had met Peter whilst he was in his mid-teens – and had thought him an adult for a long time after they first met – he might be more accepting of facts. That wasn’t to mention whether they were compatible anyway, plus it may well be that Wade wasn’t interested in him sexually or romantically, and in that case his age wouldn’t be so much _the_ issue as it would be _a_ contributing factor. The reasons to tell the older man were far less than the reasons not to tell him.

 

It was then he realised that they were staring at him. They were waiting for an answer from him, but one that he was reluctant to give. Pepper was clearly concerned, because this was her son and he was the most important person in her life, and it hurt her to think of him so conflicted and to know that he was enduring so much. It had been difficult for him to come to terms with his sexuality, especially in the wake of his girlfriend’s death. Now he knew the truth. He was bisexual and in love with an older man, but not just any man: Wade Wilson.

 

“Well, Peter?”

 

“He – er – may be older?”

 

“ _Older_?” Pepper asked. “How much older?”

 

“Well – that is – I guess . . . forty-one? I-it’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise! He’s just a really good friend, plus he’s not interested in me at all, or at least he wasn’t? I mean, I’m seventeen now, which means I’m legal in New York, but . . . he’s so _moral_ about these things! N-not that he’s immoral otherwise! He just might still see me as a kid, because I’m under eighteen. I just hoped he might see me differently now.”

 

Pepper gave a long exhale of breath. It intimidated him a little to see her lean back in her chair, as well as to cross her arms in front of her chest. There was a cold aura about the room, whilst Mary Jane reached out to sip from her coffee cup, and it felt almost as if he were on the stand trying to defend himself. It felt a bit like an interrogation. He looked from side to side, as he tried to work out what each woman was thinking, but – whilst Mary Jane smiled and seemed to support him – his mother looked very stern and seemed to calculate her response before she spoke.

 

“Peter, I have a question for you. I want you to answer it honestly, okay?”

 

“Okay? I mean, sure. I don’t have anything to hide . . .”

 

“Good to know. Is this man Wade?”

 

He flinched and shrugged again. This was the moment that he had hoped to avoid, especially when there was no real point in telling them before Wade even knew, as it would only cause needless problems before there was anything to even worry about. He took to quickly shovelling food into his mouth, hoping to use it as an excuse not to answer the question, but his mother merely gave a hard hiss of breath in response. Pepper knew his tricks too well. She asked him once more:

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Pepper asked.

 

He smiled nervously through his full mouth. Pepper rolled her eyes and then leaned onto the table, where she began to massage her temples quite thoroughly, and he suddenly felt that he truly was Tony’s son. There were only two people alive that could exasperate Pepper to the point of a potential migraine: Tony and Peter. He felt a tiny speck of shame that he could have worried her to such a degree, but he couldn’t help his feelings. He liked Wade . . . loved maybe . . .

 

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Mary Jane kicked his leg under the table and made a gesture to him. He swallowed hard at her suggestion, so that he would be able to speak and talk to his mother, but – the very moment he opened his mouth – his mother raised a hand to tell him not to utter a single word. It was clear that he had crossed a line. He hadn’t even known that there was a line to cross, but he supposed having feelings for a man over twice his age probably was it, especially when that same man had an incredibly dark past. He looked away from her.

 

“Wade Wilson? Deadpool?”

 

“I – I can explain, Mom! I really –”

 

“No, Peter, let me speak,” she said firmly. “I would very much like to hear why you feel this way towards Wade, but you have to understand my concerns. This is a much older man that treats suicide attempts as a perfectly acceptable solution to even the smallest of problems, as well as a man that changes alliances so quickly that he has literally shot his team-mates in the back, and he has more blood on his hands than any hero or villain known to S.H.I.E.L.D. This – _this_ – is a big worry.

 

“I trust your judgement, but it scares me that you could be attracted to Wade. I ought to tell your father, by all rights, but I know how he would react and we don’t even know if Wade will reciprocate your feelings, so . . . I’m putting some conditions in place to this whole thing. I won’t tell your father, but you _will_ obey my rules. If Wade reciprocates then I want to meet him . . . not in his uniform, not in his mask . . . I want to meet _Wade_ and decide for myself whether he is good for you. If he reciprocates then I want you chaperoned at all times in private . . . no sneaking off at night, no having him sit by your bedside, and no other inappropriate acts.

 

“You can do whatever you like when you reach eighteen, but only as I can’t legally stop you. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop being worried about you, just as it means that I won’t stop offering you advice or telling you honestly how I feel, but at that point in time then you will be free to see Wade whenever you wish and however you wish. I just ask that – for this upcoming year – you respect that I find this very worrying and obey my two simple rules: I meet Wade and you don’t spend time alone in private. I – I’m actually more worried that Wade won’t reciprocate . . .”

 

“Are you kidding?” MJ asked. “Wade is _crazy_ about Peter! He’ll so say yes!”

 

“He might say no, I admit,” said Peter, “but why does it worry you?”

 

“You and MJ are both so young . . .”

 

Pepper sat up again, but this time she wore a smile that was both sad and broken. It was as if she were trying to bring herself to give bad news, which was something that she was usually quite good at, especially when she held the empathy and social skills that Tony often lacked, as well as great tact. It was unlike her to worry like this over what she was about to say, which sent a shiver of dread down Peter’s spine as he wondered exactly what she was about to say to him. He hated to see her this way.

 

“He might reject you outright, Peter,” said Pepper.

 

“I – I don’t understand. The worst he can do is to say ‘no’, right?”

 

“No, the worst he can do is to break all contact with you. You’re under eighteen, Peter, which means – even though you don’t see it that way – that you’re still technically a child, and he might see your friendship as too much of a risk. He might fear leading you on, or you misinterpreting his gestures, and he might fear most of all what people will think of him. He might think it safer to separate himself from you. No one can accuse him of the worst, but you can’t be led on either . . .

 

“He also hides behind a mask, literally and figuratively. I’ve met people like him before, and that includes your father and that includes you too. He’s just a more . . . _extreme_ sort. There is probably a lot that he has hidden from you about his past, as well as insecurities that run deep to his very core, and – like your father – he’ll probably either laugh off any confessions with an air of arrogance or get angry and accuse you of lying. No one with that level of self-hatred will ever truly believe that someone can love them. You risk alienating him.”

 

“I – I guess that’s a risk that I’ll have to take . . .”

 

“If you’re sure, Peter.”

 

He smiled nervously and returned to eating his breakfast. There was an infinite feeling of gratitude as he realised that he had his mother’s support, and – judging from the glances MJ shot him – his friend was also on his side and probably in need of the gossip later on. He understood what his mother was saying, but surely he had to take a chance and be honest with Wade? He couldn’t keep hiding his feelings. He would have to work up the courage and tell Wade. There was no doubt in his mind.

 

“I’m sure. I’ll tell him this week.”

 

“Well, good luck, Peter.”

 


	13. Chapter 12

# Part Two: Chapter Twelve

****

“Wade! Wade, open up!”

 

Peter lifted his hood to hide his face. It wasn’t that he was scared of being mugged or beaten, because he knew full well that he had the skills to fend off any would-be attackers, but there was no way that he was going to attract any more attention than need be. The people that frequented the building seemed to take great interest in him and what he was doing, which probably wasn’t helped by the designer trainers he wore or the newest backpack that he had half-off his left shoulder.

 

If he had known that Wade lived in _this_ building . . . well . . . he probably would have tried to dress down and stopped by at some other time. The guy on the elevator that had tried to sell Peter drugs was pretty scary in his own right, and the barely clothed toddlers playing unsupervised on the stairwell worried him no end, and even on Wade’s floor there were a group of teenagers blocking the way and being a general nuisance. Wade was pretty rich, right? Why would he live in a dump like this? He probably could have lived anywhere in the city, but he chose ‘Sunset Apartments’. It was an apt name. This dump pretty much screamed ‘absence of light’.

 

“Wade, I mean it! Please, open up!”

 

It had taken him longer than he would have liked to find the apartment, which also included the fact that he had to call in a few favours from his acquaintances and contacts, but he had found it in the end. He had rang Wade in advance to make sure he would be in, as well as the fact that he had heard the older man’s phone ring as he stood outside waiting for him to answer the door. Why wasn’t he answering? Peter kicked the door hard to vent his frustration, but then he realised something in the dark and dank hallway. Wade had pretty simple motivations.

 

“Er – package for Wade Wilson! I have a long, hard package for Wilson!”

 

_‘Seriously? Dude, no way! You did not just say that!’_

There was a sound of shuffling from inside, followed by a couple of thuds and harsh curses, which made it sound as if he Wade had tripped in his rush to get to the door, and then there came the rattling of the door handle. Peter looked around at the urine-soaked, rat-infested hellhole and felt dirty simply waiting for Wade to unlock the many locks that appeared to be preventing him entry. It was enough to make him wish he had scaled the building, but Logan had warned him Wade hated surprises.

 

It took about twenty-seconds, but eventually the door swung open and revealed Wade. He was dressed simply in a faded t-shirt and boxers, but he had left his mask on to hide his face and keep his persona, and – in all honesty – Peter wasn’t sure what to feel about that. It took a huge amount of trust for Wade to display his body at all, even if the scarring wasn’t all too bad today, but to hide behind ‘Deadpool’ also indicated that he wasn’t quite comfortable letting Peter completely into his home. The good news was that he smiled. He could see it behind the mask . . . a genuine smile.

 

“Let me guess,” Wade said, “I open yours and you open mine.”

 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with it, even if you _did_ get it out.”

 

“Ouch! Spidey got claws! Those could come in useful!”

 

Peter blushed and looked downwards. It was difficult to abide such flirtations lately, especially now he had come to terms with his feelings and sexual identity, and he couldn’t help but analyse every word his friend uttered. He wondered if Wade meant any of what he said, especially when he flirted with just about anyone, but a part of him felt this was different and that Wade _did_ mean what he said, but then if he meant it then did that mean he would accept his confession? Peter shook his head.

 

“Here,” he snapped.

 

He slid his backpack off his shoulder and threw it at Wade, who caught it with quick reflexes and fast thinking. The older man lifted it and shook it, almost like a child that had a particularly interesting gift on Christmas, but the truth was that it was just his Spider-Man outfit and his photography gear. There wasn’t really anything to hide from Wade at this point in their friendship, but – even if there were – he wouldn’t have just _handed_ it to Wade. Wade would be disappointed, if he expected dirt.

 

Peter pushed past Wade and walked into the apartment. It was actually pretty spacious for the city, but it needed a lot of work to make it even halfway habitable. There seemed to be a bedroom to the right, with a kitchen and bathroom to the far left, and opposite him sat a row of large windows that let in a huge amount of light. Peter walked into the middle of the room. There was plaster coming off the walls to reveal the wood behind, whilst the carpet was stained and dirty, and the rug underneath the lone armchair looked like it was about to grow its own ecosystem.

 

The television was an old box type with an actual antenna, whilst the two armchairs to the left and sofa to the right were . . . well . . . pretty filthy. It was made worse by how there seemed to be unopened boxes lurking about, as well as take-away boxes all over the floor, and – Peter had to draw in a deep breath – he realised that the ‘carpet’ wasn’t so much a ‘carpet’ as it was water-damage, mould and various scraps of cloth. This – this place was pretty much a slum. He felt afraid to sit anywhere.

 

“How’d you find me, anyway?” Wade asked.

 

“The apartment was leased to an ‘Enid Goode’ and sublet to a ‘Seymour Cox’,” Peter explained patiently. “It wasn’t exactly rocket science, but the fact I followed you last night – and saw you jump through the window in uniform – pretty much cemented it.”

 

“Huh, you were lucky I’m staying in my luxurious crib! My house is a lot nicer, but – _dude_ – you have to get like the subway and stuff to get there, plus it has all these memories and is so inconvenient to look after! I did have a housekeeper, but I had to let her go . . . _let her go_. . . shut up, it’s funny! This place is pretty much just my main crash pad and a place to hide out. It’s kind of . . . cosy! Yeah, cosy!”

 

“Oh – you er – have a dog? Hey, you have books too? I never really pictured you as the reading sort . . . with your attention span, I’d have guessed even moving pictures on a screen would pose something of a challenge.”

 

“Dude, you’re such a little bitch today!”

 

Wade walked over to the dog that was tied by the bookcase, where he checked briefly that it had water and food. He stood for a moment as if he were about to walk away, before he let out a long laugh and began to fuss the dog, and – judging from how obediently it rolled onto its stomach and wagged its tail – Wade must have been a rather good owner to it, even if he didn’t seem like the good owner kind. He eventually got up and stretched, before he ran across the room and threw himself into an armchair. He draped his legs over the back and let his head hang down.

 

“What did you want with me, anyway?”

 

“How is it – from you – even a simple question sounds dirty?”

 

“You just have a dirty mind! I guess it’s excusable, I mean, you are at that age! Oh, on that note? You should _totally_ avoid a town called ‘Intercourse’, because it’s the _most_ misleading name in the entire world! That reminds me, I flung your bag over by the dog-bed. You don’t mind, do you? Nah, I thought not! If you want to act like such a bitch, figured you wouldn’t mind me sticking your stuff by one!”

 

“Wait, isn’t that a boy –? Never mind. I _really_ don’t to get into one of _those_ arguments right now. Look, Wade? I just . . . I really need to talk to you about something important. Is there anywhere I can sit where I won’t need shots after?”

 

“Well, there’s the bedroom, but you don’t want to go in there! Trust me!”

 

“If it’s clean and tidy, I’ll risk it. _Trust me_.”

 

Peter sighed and headed over to the wooden door. It gave him a great view of the back of the sofa on the way, which had a rather embarrassing collection of comics and magazines, and he felt himself blushing all over again. He felt weird about walking into Wade’s bedroom, but – with all his friends living at home and still in high school – he was pretty used to hanging out in rooms like that. It just felt a lot weirder considering Wade was an adult. This wasn’t his _living_ space, but his _private_ space.

 

The bedroom was pretty Spartan, with what looked like concrete walls and bare floors, but Wade had appeared to paint a large picture of himself on the left wall just next to the door. There was a metal shelving unit next to it, as well as a broken punching back and an air pump to one side, and his bed was just a box mattress without any kind of blankets or sheets at all. Peter looked around a bit more. The closet was filled mostly with spare uniforms and dresses, whilst a computer sat opposite the bed on an old desk. Peter wasn’t surprised to see the entire back wall was taken up by weapons and machinery. It really was a mercenary’s room.

 

Peter debated sitting on the weight-bench between computer and weapons, but he wanted to _talk_ to Wade properly. The bed felt far too intimate a place to sit, especially considering the nature of his confession, but there was nowhere better to take seat. He sat on the very edge of the bed and tried to remain calm, because – after all – he sat with his friends on their beds a few times, albeit usually to play video games or study for their exams. It was then he looked to the wall and saw something that he wished he hadn’t . . . he hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was . . .

 

“Hey? Er – Wade?”

 

' _Look, bro, if you found a bad website or a suspicious stain then -'_

 

“N-no, nothing like that! I just . . . what’s that?”

 

Wade walked into the bedroom with a groan. He left the door wide open, whilst he slumped his body and rolled his head around in a rather exaggerated fashion, before he then took a running jump at the bed and landed with a heavy thud. It nearly was enough to knock Peter off the edge entirely, but the mercenary simply took to lying sprawled on his stomach with his head on the side. Peter couldn’t look at him. He just couldn’t. It was impossible to tear his eyes from the red stain above the bed.

 

“W-Wade? That looks like blood.”

 

“That? Ha! Interesting story, kiddo!” Wade rolled onto his back. “You know how they say ‘suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem’? They obviously never met my awesome self! Seriously, Russian roulette is _the_ best game you can ever hope to play -! Well, maybe not _you_ personally. I wouldn’t recommend your adorable self ever play it! I’d be pissed, if you did! Plus blood stains are a pain to get out!”

 

“Oh God, my mother was right! I can’t believe that she was right!”

 

“Aw, you talked to your mother about me!”

 

“S-shut up!”

 

Peter dropped his head into his hands. He leaned forward and braced his elbows onto his knees, where he did his best to ignore the foot – flaking and with bad sores – that continuously prodded at his head. It was obvious that Wade wanted his attention, but the fact that Wade had sat at the head of the bed . . . obviously more than once . . . only to take a gun against his head and actually pull the trigger. He must have been in such intense emotional pain. Did he really hide it all behind a smile and a mask?

 

It felt absolutely horrible to even think that Wade could ever feel so depressed, but that _stupid_ foot kept prodding at him, so that now it felt like Wade was trying to tickle his neck with his toes . . . what if Pepper was right? It was likely that Wade would either laugh his confession away, the way that life was one big joke to him, or he would reject Peter outright due to fear of being mocked or played. Peter then felt the older man’s big toe scratch his skin a little. Okay, it was impossible to think with Wade there! Seriously, what kind of adult _acted_ that way? Peter smacked the foot away, but only two seconds later did it return.

 

“Quit it, Wade!”

 

Peter grabbed him by the ankle and twisted hard, so that the older man was forced into an awkward position and had his leg locked on Peter’s shoulder. It was a good lock. It should have put a stop to the shenanigans. Wade proved his excellent skills in martial arts almost at once, as he twisted his body around and used his legs to get Peter into a headlock, where he flipped them over a few times so that they were in a somewhat compromising position. Wade whistled a song to himself as he stretched out on his back, as if Peter _wasn’t_ locked between his thighs and staring at his boxers.

 

“Wade, let go right now!”

 

“Uh-uh! Not until you say the magic word!”

 

“Please! _Please_ let go!”

 

There was an almost devilish laugh from Wade. It wasn’t funny in the least, because Peter was forced to use all his muscle strength to keep from falling face down onto _that_ of all things. He was pretty sure that Wade found it hysterical to torture him, but he didn’t really know exactly what kind of torture that it really was, especially with the kind of thoughts in Peter’s head and the hormones in his body. It didn’t help that he was fairly certain that breathing was getting more difficult.

 

“That word is so lame!” Wade snapped.

 

“Chimichanga! I’ve never seen such a large chimichanga?”

 

“Ooh, I like it! That being said, you come up with _much_ better lines as Spider-Man!”

 

Wade let go at once. He went back to lying as he had before, but this time much more still and much more relaxed. It was almost like looking at a normal person, or – at least – it would have been had Peter not been choking for breath. He tried not to blush at the rather intimate position he had been in, especially with his friend barely even dressed, and he couldn’t help but rub at his neck in embarrassment that he hadn’t even tried to fight back. He couldn’t have fought back though without risking touching or gabbing Wade inappropriately, and – frankly – this discussion would be hard enough.

 

It was then that the computer let out a long and loud whirring sound, which clearly indicated that the machine had broken in some way. He felt tempted to tell Wade he could fix the machine for him, so that it wouldn’t keep turning on by itself, but he didn’t want to endure twenty minutes of being called a geek and Wade eating food over his shoulder as he asked ‘what does that do’ for the fiftieth time in a row. He shook his head and turned to glare at Wade.

 

“Look, I really do need to talk to you!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade whined. “I feel so unloved! Here I am, expecting a super fun day of video games and movie marathons, but _someone_ wants to get all serious and talk! I hope this is something serious, Petey! I could be polishing my gun right now!”

 

“Ignoring the likely euphemism,” said Peter. “I – I actually wanted to – to talk to you about . . . about how I feel. T-this isn’t easy, Wade, but I started having these really weird feelings about a year or so ago, and at first I thought it was just a phase or maybe that I was just confused, but . . . those feelings only got stronger. I realised that I was . . . I was bisexual. I was also having feelings for . . . well . . . you.

 

“P-please just hear me out, Wade! I know we weren’t all that close to begin with, like I know you had a crush on me . . . until you realised how old I was . . . plus we argued a lot and I treated you badly and it took me ages to see you as a friend. I – I can see why this might seem so random and out of the blue, but . . . it’s real! The past couple of years we’ve become good friends. I’ve got to see a whole other side to you, and I can trust you in ways that I can’t trust anyone else, and you – you’re a pretty decent guy with a really good heart. You always make me feel safe.

 

“Y-you’re cute too . . . I know – I know you don’t see it, but you are! I mean, you work out a lot and have a pretty muscular body . . . you’re tall too . . . even when the cancer is pretty bad, it doesn’t change your facial structure or jaw-line or how expressive your eyes are, and . . . _oh God_! This is _so damned embarrassing_! I – I feel like a schoolgirl talking to a crush! Ugh! I don’t know if you could still see something between us, but now I’m old enough to pursue this . . . could we give it a go?”

 

“You can be pretty funny when you want to be, Petey.”

 

“I’m not joking, Wade! I like you a lot!”

 

He spun around to face Wade. It was difficult to look the older man in his eyes – or at least the eyes of his mask – and yet he felt compelled to at least try, because he had to convey just how important this was and how sincere he felt. Peter crossed his legs and sat fully on the bed, but no sooner did he do so had Wade pulled his legs up and sat up against the wall, as if he instinctively sought to move as far away from the younger man as possible. He tried not to feel hurt by it.

 

It was a long few moment of silence, but then Wade swung his legs off the right side of the bed and stood up. Peter was confused for a long moment, especially when he struggled to climb across the bed himself and sat awkwardly on the edge as he waited for some sort of answer, but Wade simply headed to his closet. One door had came off long ago, by the looks of things, so he was able to reach straight in and pull out a costume quite easily. He began to strip down to put the costume on, so Peter closed his eyes and covered them with his hand. Deadpool had been kind enough never to look at Peter’s face, before his identity had been known, and so he could return the favour and let the guy keep his modesty. It didn’t stop him from blushing.

 

Eventually he heard footsteps and felt his cheek being slapped several times, which caused him to open his eyes and look to his friend. Deadpool stood before him with an expression of anger that was visible through his mask, as well as the fact his muscles bulged through the red and black suit, and when he finally caught Peter’s attention he gave a low growl. It seemed his had picked the black gloves today. It was something Peter easily noticed when a large index finger was pointed only an inch from the gap between his eyes. It was intimidating.

 

“That’s one fucked up lie, Petey,” he snapped.

 

“I’m not lying! I’m not trying to trick you or hurt you!”

 

“Yeah, well you’re doing one _swelligant_ job! I thought we were friends!”

 

Peter stood up angrily. He had his flaws, but he had never considered himself a liar or the manipulative asshole that Deadpool seemed to imply. It was hard to look intimidating in turn when he had to look up at the older man, not least when he was dressed everyday clothes and out of his uniform, but he gave such a cold stare back that he could see Deadpool flinch back just slightly. He leaned forward into his friend’s space. He drew in a hiss of breath and pointed his finger back at him.

 

“We _are_ friends,” Peter snapped. “That’s why I owed it to you to tell you the truth! Okay, I get that you have issues, that’s fine! I’m not expecting you to believe that this could be true love or that we’d be a great or couple or even to reciprocate what I feel, _all_ that I’m expecting of you is to believe that I have _some_ romantic feelings for you and to _accept_ that! If you knew me at all, you’d know I wouldn’t lie about this!”

 

“Bullshit! _Bullshit,_ Peter! You’re after something! I know full fucking well that you’re after something! What is it? Did Logan put you up to this? Is this some sort of joke? Oh, sure, laugh at the crazy! _You’re rich, too_.  Kid already has money. Doesn’t mean shit, everyone wants more money!”

 

“I can hear you, you know! You think I want money? You already _offered_ to buy me a darned spider-cave! I told you ‘no’, as my loyalty couldn’t be bought! Do you think my _love_ can be bought? It can’t! I love you for you, not for your money!”

 

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Peter!”

 

“I’m not lying! I love –”

 

The world turned pure white. He didn’t even feel the punch until he found himself lying flat upon the bed, where he rolled onto his side and touched gingerly at his chin. It would definitely leave a bruise, at least if the way it hurt just to even touch was any indication, and he felt lucky just to have not broke or fractured the bone . . . that was definitely one reason to be grateful for his extra-strength. He blinked his eyes to clear them and get back his vision. This definitely was going worse than expected.

 

Peter lay back again and moved to sit up, but Deadpool had stormed to the very edge of the bed and stood between his legs. He _couldn’t_ sit up. He couldn’t even _stand_ up. The older man forced him to continue to lie back, albeit he propped himself up on his elbows and felt his heart beat in a rush of sudden fear, and he couldn’t help himself but to scan Deadpool’s body for any weapons. The mercenary hadn’t any time to put on his holsters, sheathes and pouches, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was unarmed. Deadpool was prone to keeping hidden weapons in his sleeves and boots, once even a razor blade under his tongue, and that thought scared Peter.

 

“You – you punched me!”

 

“Yeah? Is that what I fucking did? Here I was thinking it was a full-on kiss with my fist! Go figure! A punch? Is that what you bastard kids call it these days? You know what, _someone_ owes me an apology. Want to try again with your words, Peter?”

 

“So what? So you can punch me again? Okay, I know I ought to feel lucky, because I’ve _seen_ what you do to people that you really have something against, but _punching_ me for telling you the truth? Look, I know that you hate yourself. You probably don’t believe that you’re capable of being loved. You probably don’t think yourself worthy of love, but you _are,_ Wade! Don’t hide behind your mask! Just listen to me!”

 

“Why should I do that? I know the truth, Peter. I know _exactly_ who and what I am. I’m the one that has to look in the fucking mirror every time I wash this shit, and I’m the one that has to live with all the bullshit that I’ve done. You don’t know a fucking thing about me! You want me? You want _this_? What is _wrong_ with you?”

 

“You’re making yourself out to be a monster to scare me away! It won’t work!”

 

“Yeah? Then you’re fucking delusional!”

 

It was hard not to flinch again. Deadpool lifted his leg and slammed his foot only a few inches from Peter’s head, and just a bare centimetre from his fingers. The shock of it, along with the movement of the mattress, caused him to lose his balance and to fall flat on his back. The pose of Deadpool was incredibly threatening at this point, but his legs in that position left him incredibly open, so that he was effectively _giving_ Peter a chance to kick him and overpower him. It was clever. Deadpool saved face by acting tough and bad, but made sure to give Peter an out and some control.

 

“I know what I am, Peter.”

 

“Yeah? Then tell me: what are you?”

 

“ _Worthless_! You know it sounds so totally _emo_ when said aloud, but it’s true. I once dated this chick that I was really into, but I guess she wasn’t that into me . . . stands to reason really . . . I didn’t mind that she was just using me, but I thought she at least respected me on some level. I guess I was wrong. It seems not everyone can appreciate this level of greatness, but you know what _really_ hurt? I asked her for help. I asked her just to tell me that I was alright as a _person_ , not even as a lover . . .

 

“Story of my life, isn’t it? You know the only person I can ever remember telling me that I was a good person was Cable, but even _he_ tried to kill me on a regular basis. Bastard. Syrin was different, though . . . I thought her rejection was bad enough, to have those worst fears confirmed . . . guess I’m crazier than I thought. There was some shit that went down after that . . . bad things happened to me . . . I took shower after shower, but couldn’t get clean, and the worst thing is that I know what happened was _my_ fault. I was dirty and used, but it was _my_ fault I was that way. I betrayed Syrin. I failed her. I reached out to her and was rejected, and this . . .

 

“It was like I was being _punished_ for even _daring_ to think that I might be worth shit. You don’t even know the worst of what I’ve done and what’s happened to me, but when you do . . . you’ll leave like they all do. I won’t blame you, baby boy, but I’m not going through that level of crap again. I’m not having you die in my arms or walk away from me or realise you’ve made the biggest mistake of your fucking life! You’re still young. You don’t know me well enough to want me, and if you did then you wouldn’t be saying this shit in the first place. Grow up, Peter.”

 

Deadpool sneered and walked away.

 

It hurt Peter to hear those things. It hurt worse to hear the unspoken implication about what Wade must have been through . . . he had already endured great abuse during the medical torture of the experiments . . . how much pain had he experienced in his life? He strove so hard to be a hero. He had spent so long trying to emulate Spider-Man and –! Oh God, was that _why_ he tried so hard to be like other people? Did he just want to be anyone but himself? It wasn’t right that he suffered so much!

 

Peter heard the bedroom door slam open, so hard that he could actually hear plaster crumble, and he had to wonder when it had even closed. He couldn’t remember Deadpool having left the room, just as he realised that he couldn’t even say how long the older man had been gone, but the sick and heavy sense of dread was heavy in his stomach. He owed Deadpool an apology. He needed time to reassure him that he _knew_ what Deadpool was like and that – yes – he _did_ want to be with him. There wasn’t time to so much as say a single word, however, because it was clear the conversation was over. Deadpool threw his backpack at him.

 

He caught it and opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it at once. Deadpool leaned against the doorframe with one hand, whilst his other remained on his hips and he nodded out of the room. Yeah, it was clear there was nothing left to say. He was being kicked out of the apartment and that would mean having to head home on his own, past all the scary residents and visitors, and alone with only his thoughts and intense levels of guilt. Did he do wrong by saying something? He ought to have stayed quiet, but then . . . what if Deadpool had met someone else or never known how he felt?

 

“You get me into bed just to kick me out?” Peter teased.

 

“Gee, I guess humour is infectious,” said Deadpool. “You know what the biggest joke is so far? That I have all these _fucking_ guns just _feet_ away and I haven’t bloody shot you yet! I guess I must be more into you than I thought.”

 

It was hard not to feel hopeful at that. He stood up and pulled his backpack on over his shoulder, and he took a few shaky steps towards Deadpool. There was a rather awkward moment when he wasn’t sure whether to smile or not, although to hear that the older man was into him made him want to swing from the rooftops laughing with relief, but something told him that there was still more to this. That thought was proven when Deadpool grabbed him hard by the elbow.

 

He – he was being escorted out! Peter tried to turn to Deadpool, whilst he was being dragged to the door by his arm, but the grip was strong that there was no way he could break it without causing an all out fight. They eventually came to a stop, but only when Deadpool had swung open the door to the apartment and threw Peter outside. The younger man hit the wall opposite with a heavy thud, but luckily his bag protected him a little from the impact, and Deadpool simply stood opposite him with his arms crossed against his chest and legs parted to block the entire doorway. He frowned beneath the mask. He glared at Peter venomously.

 

“Don’t come back, Petey,” he said. “I won’t be here.”

 

“Wade, please, I really do care about you and –”

 

“I’ll be back when I’m ready,” he continued. “You won’t be able to find me until I want to be found, and maybe then we can continue where we left off . . . _as_ _friends_. Hell, if you’re still crazy enough to love me at that point, we’ll talk, but don’t hold your breath, baby boy! I’m going to show you just what a monster you love. If blood ain’t shed when you next see me, it’ll prove you’re a fucking masochist. Take care!”

 

“W-wait! You’re just – you’re _leaving_ town?”

 

Peter shot out his hand to block the door. He wasn’t going to let Deadpool slam the door on his face like that, especially when he was threatening to skip down and disappear into the night! He removed his hand slowly, but only when he sensed a raised eyebrow under the mask and a small spark of curiosity from his closest friend, and he swallowed hard and let out a shuddered breath. He wasn’t sure how to progress with this, but he sensed honesty was probably _not_ the best way to go.

 

“You can’t just leave things like this, Wade!”

 

“Let me guess? You love me and the power of love can fix all my issues! Boo-hoo! Little Wade just needs a hug and a kiss and a night rolling in the sheets, and suddenly he’ll be all fixed and happy and normal! Heard it before, kiddo!”

 

“I’m not trying to fix you! I’m not trying to change you! I just –”

 

“Bored now! Bye-bye!”

 

The door slammed shut hard. It drew in the attention of the small gang from earlier on, where it seemed that they still hadn’t dispersed, and at once Peter began to hammer hard upon the door as hard as he could. He banged and banged and banged until his hand became red raw, at which point Deadpool had turned on a rather frustrating album that sounded like it belonged back in the fifties that it probably originated from. Peter screamed loudly in frustration and kicked the door.

 

“ _Damn it, Wade!_ ”

 

It was three months before he saw Wade again.

 

 


	14. Chapter 13

# Part Two: Chapter Thirteen

****

_Dude, this is so boring . . ._

 

It actually _was_ pretty boring. He always hated these stakeouts, but they were supposedly necessary to the job! See, this is so totally why teams had their advantages, because then you could assign the boring stuff to the Bobs and Weasels of the group! It was better that way. It meant that someone as awesome as Deadpool could swoop in at the very last second and kick some ass! Okay, so _maybe_ he couldn’t just go straight into the killing and shooting and beating, not this time, but still -!

 

He looked across the road through the window; he shoved a bunch of crisps into his mouth and chomped noisily, but something told him that this wasn’t professional behaviour, but then that part of him could go shove itself! He was two minutes away from playing noughts-and-crosses with a knife on his skin, because _it was just that boring_ sat there! There was a chill in the room, too. It was really uncomfortable! If he wasn’t renting the empty house _just_ to scope out his target, he might have just actually bothered to furnish the damned thing. He never had blue balls from the _cold_ before! It was like a form of hell and -! Hold up! That was new, wasn’t it?

 

_Huh? I don’t see anything!_

You don’t see that? There isn’t much else he’d be interested in.

_There’s_ one _thing we’d be interested in and there’s no way he’d be here on a Friday –_

 

It’s a Saturday. He’s not at school. He’ll be at . . .?

 

_Er – the butchers?_

 

No, Genius.

 

Deadpool snickered loudly to himself. Yeah, he definitely liked the yellow box best! It tended to have the worst ideas, but it was definitely the most fun! Where else would a seventeen-year-old be in his free time, if not beating meat? The empty bedroom he sat in began to stink like the backroom of a butcher’s shop, now he thought about it, but he couldn’t help it with all the takeaway boxes and fast-food wrappers all over the floor! How long had he been watching this old bint anyway? A week? Two?

 

The house opposite was pretty and nice, but it was a bore to watch. The old woman was barely ever inside, although her routine was pretty clear-cut and ran like clockwork, which would make it easier when time came to act. He could see her opening the door and embracing her nephew, who – Deadpool had to groan to see – was crying like a little girl whose ice cream fell splat to the floor! She stroked his hair and gave him a small kiss to the head, but it was kind of difficult to watch. He had to stay objective! You couldn’t let personal feelings affect your work! Okay, unless it was someone you knew . . . or hated . . . or loved . . . or all three in this case.

 

Damn it, now he felt bad _and_ bored! It had been at least a month or two since he last saw the kid, although it was hard to keep track of time with his erratic sleeping patterns and lack of a calendar, but – even though it had been _ages_ – the kid was _still_ super sad about it all! See, _this_ was why Deadpool couldn’t accept the kid’s offer! If he could make Petey cry _weeks_ after rejecting him, how much would he have cried _dating_ someone like Deadpool? He’d have broken Petey for sure, and he loved him too much to break him! Still, he couldn’t win! Petey was sad either way.

 

_Aw, he has feelings for him!_

 

That may well be the problem, I fear.

 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

He watched as May clasped Peter’s face in her hands. It was then she said something that made Peter laugh, which made Deadpool’s stomach churn and his hands clench into tight fists . . . he had always been the one to make Petey laugh! Okay, he was _not_ jealous! So what, if Petey was now heading inside? So what, if Petey would sit down and confess his soul to his aunt about his feelings? It was not as though the younger guy could ever actually love someone like Deadpool anyway!

 

Peter _romanticised_ him. He didn’t know how Deadpool had been somewhat mentally unstable _before_ the procedure, just as he had been a mercenary and military dropout _before_ the procedure too, and he also didn’t know what a shit Deadpool had been throughout his whole life. Peter didn’t know about the torture and deaths he’d inflicted, or the priest that could now only urinate sitting down, or the way that he still felt sick and damaged after what Mary had been done to him without his consent. Peter didn’t know how everyone – including Cable and Syrin – just _left_ him, or even how Deadpool sometimes dreamt he was just a crazy man in an asylum _imagining_ all of this, so he had no idea what was real or what was not! Peter didn’t _know_!

 

_So . . . it’s like he loves you for just you!_

 

He doesn’t love you out of pity. He isn’t trying to fix you.

 

_Aw! It’s so sweet! It’s like that Disney movie with the prince and princess!_

 

“It’s like every movie ever made?”

 

The fact was that Peter loved the _ideal_ of Deadpool. It was just like how Cable only fucking loved what he _thought_ Deadpool could be, just as how Syrin only loved what a distraction Deadpool could _provide_ for her -! He just couldn’t work out what the flying fuck the kid was getting from this! It – it was possible he had grown to like and love Deadpool just for being Deadpool, but what kind of fucking weirdo would ever do that? Hell, even _he_ couldn’t bring himself to look in a mirror!

 

Oh, it boils down to this.

 

_Boils down to what? It’s not our fault that people can’t appreciate our handsomeness!_

 

No, no. That’s just a _part_ of it, really. The self-conscious feelings about his looks are just a symptom of the deeper level of self-hatred at play here, which – admittedly – were fears confirmed many a time, but the ultimate cause . . . abandonment. 

 

_Aw, come on! We’re not a chick-flick! Are you going to say that we push people away so we don’t feel hurt when they leave? Ugh! Are our cycles syncing?_

 

Fine. Ignore me. Take out the old lady. See if that helps.

 

_Fair point. He’ll hate us after this, for sure!_

 

Deadpool growled loudly. He whipped his gun out from the holster on his hip and flipped it around. It was then he grabbed it by the barrel and slammed the hilt into his head to _shut the goddamn voices up_! The bastards always did this! They wouldn’t leave him alone! He felt the pain sharp in his skull, along with a searing white pain in his flesh that threatened to explode into stars, and it was then he felt the blood begin to pour. It tasted metallic as it dripped into his mouth. His mask clung to him.

 

“We’re doing this, shut up!”

 

_Yeah, but then we’ll lose him for good!_

 

“He needs to see the truth,” Deadpool snapped. “Anyway, after all the bloody work we’ve put into this shit, we’re taking out _an_ old lady whether we want to or not! I’m not wasting good money and time on a camp-out in an empty house!”

 

They fell silent at that. It wouldn’t last for long; it never did last long as far as the voices were concerned, but at least it left him with a moment of silence to think for himself at last. These were the moments that he hated. He hated the chance to think without distraction, because those were the moments that drove him straight into the hands of madness or death, but – hell – even _Death_ didn’t want him like that anymore, but least those little slices of death were a distraction in their own right.

 

He thought about how Petey might – _just might_ – understand what he felt, because hadn’t Petey experienced a lot of the same sort of things? Okay, so he might not have known _everything_ that Deadpool felt, but he did cause the deaths of people closest to him, as well as suffered the loss of his parents, and -! Wait, did – did the stupid white box have a point? No way! Deadpool wasn’t the kind to bitch and moan and obsess about the past and -! Okay, right, he _was_ that type of person, but he _knew_ he was crazy and that made him _less_ crazy, and he knew what his issues were too, so how could they be issues anymore? Right! It made perfect sense!

 

Still, there was that one time, long ago . . .

 

_‘Knock, knock!’_

_Wade laughed from behind the front door. It was always his favourite time of day, because Daddy would always come back from work with the best of jokes! He knew he was an odd kid, he just couldn’t understand why, but – with Daddy around – he felt as if nothing could ever be wrong! He was never made to feel silly or bad with his father, and the older man loved him so much!_

_He jumped up and down in excitement as he heard the key in the lock, especially when it turned and the door-handle went down, but the door stayed shut! He knew Daddy liked to tease him. There had never ever been a single day in which he hadn’t been waiting behind the door, so his father always knew he would have a reception for his latest joke. It didn’t matter whether his teachers yelled at him, or whether his mother ignored him and cried alone, or even if he had been bored all day with only his imagination for company -! Daddy made it all better! Wade jumped to the side so that the door could open properly. This was it!_

_‘Who’s there?’_

_‘Olive.’_

_‘Olive, who?’_

_The door swept open. He looked up at the giant behind the door, as he wore the biggest grin in the world, and he instinctively put his hands up to be lifted up high into the sky! His father was super strong and lifted him up easily. He spun Wade around and around and around, until he planted dozens of kisses all over his cheeks and then dropped his son playfully to the floor. He ruffled Wade’s hair gently._

_‘Olive you, silly!’_

It wasn’t as if that had been the one cause of his issues, as if he could go back in time and change that one thing and suddenly be a normal guy . . . Deadpool was crazy, but he wasn’t fucking _insane_ . . . he would have still been poor, challenged, bullied . . . he would have still entered the Weapon X programme and suffered afterwards. Okay, so those particular set of memories _sucked balls_ , plus – yeah – they made him feel all emotions and stuff, but he still would have been the same guy, even without them.

 

It was foolish to think that he would have been a better person, but still . . . _fuck_ they hurt! He had to remember that pain, because every time anyone left him then he felt it all again. He remembered how it felt like his lungs had been shredded with shrapnel when Syrin left him for good, just as how he felt numb and breathless for days after Vanessa died . . . he made the same mistakes over and over! Shit, if he just could learn to remember that feeling then maybe he’d stop doing this crap . . . letting himself get too invested emotionally . . . he heard somewhere the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, but . . . fuck that!

 

_‘Knock, knock?’_

_Wade knocked the door hard. He sobbed a little and pulled it back, only to see that his hand was really red and sore. Daddy always came back this time of day, didn’t he? It had been several days now, but he still hadn’t returned and Momma said he wouldn’t be coming back, but . . . what if he was just waiting beyond the door? He – he would be back soon. He always came back! He made Wade happy. He would be back._

_‘Knock, knock?’_

_It had to be his fault. He was a weird kid . . . no other kids wanted to play with him, but when they did he sometimes hurt them without meaning to . . . the teachers didn’t like him and kept punishing him . . . maybe there was something wrong with him? Daddy was a ‘parent’, right? Parents were supposed to love their children. Teacher said so! That meant he loved Wade and would come home soon, but . . . if he didn’t . . . did that mean Wade was unlovable? If Daddy couldn’t love him, who could?_

_Wade drew in a shaking breath, before he knocked again at the door. He forced a smile; laughing was something people did when they were happy and if he laughed then he would feel happy . . . he didn’t feel happy, though. He would keep knocking the door. Daddy loved their jokes! He would be home soon. He would come home and tell his joke and then open the door and – and -! It was hard to breath. Wade felt his mouth fill with water and his throat close. He was scared. His daddy had gone and he didn’t know when he would be back! He – he wanted his daddy!_

_‘Knock, knock . . .’_

_He drew back his hand. How long had he knocked? He couldn’t knock any more. His – his hand hurt! There was blood and bruising and it was all red and blue and – and – and -! He burst into tears. It hurt too much! He had to keep knocking, because how else would Daddy know he was waiting for him? He – he couldn’t knock anymore. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt! Who would kiss it better?_

_‘I’m sorry, Daddy!’_

_He knocked once more, but he cried out at the pain. It hurt too much to knock! There was a streak of blood on the door, where the blood had moved from his hand onto the wood, and – and – no one came in! No one answered his cries!_

_‘I’m sorry!’_

Deadpool rubbed at his eyes.

 

Okay, the mask was pretty useful in many respects. It was painful that the past still had this ability to hurt him, because he was stronger than that! He was a fucking mercenary, for crying out loud! Hell, if he ever met that deadbeat bastard, he’d goddamn gut him like a trout, and it wasn’t possible to be angry _and_ sad at once, everyone knew that! Anyway, the evil ass-wipe died when Wade had been around seventeen . . . killed in a bar . . . Wade was sad he hadn’t been the one to kill him.

 

Actually, he had been genuinely sad at his father’s death. Now that – _that_ – realisation had cut into him like a fucking knife, so that he hated himself more than anything when the first tear fell later that day, and he never really worked out _why_ it had hurt him so much. Deadpool began to bang his head on the wall behind him. This wasn’t fair . . . _none_ of this was fair . . . Petey -! Petey had him _feeling_ things! Petey had him analysing himself and being all emotional and thinking about his future and -! _Petey could do better_! It didn’t mean anything. He knew that Peter would leave the very _second_ he saw what Deadpool was capable of doing!

 

He stopped banging his head and looked back at the house, where Peter left through the front door once again. He wasn’t going to go with May to her yoga class? The kid had been way too isolated and emo lately! Deadpool wanted to phone him or email him or _something_ , just to tell him to lighten up, but he wasn’t ready for that kind of contact and he didn’t want to lead the kid on . . . make him feel as if they could be a couple, when they clearly couldn’t. He groaned and began to resume banging his head. The stakeout was taking way too long! He didn’t want to be alone any longer!

 

_We can sharpen our swords and stuff. Get ready to act!_

 

If Peter thinks that we have needlessly –

 

“That’s the whole point of this!”

 

Deadpool looked down as Peter crossed the street. He moaned aloud and ran a gloved hand down his masked face, but – even as Peter walked back home – he couldn’t take his eyes from him and wondered just how the younger man felt. It wasn’t right! It was all Petey’s fault . . . yeah, that was it . . . if Petey hadn’t said such stupid stuff -! Okay, no, it was cool; he’d just take out the old bat, fulfil his contracts, and kill two birds with one stone . . . he’d just have to talk to May first, yeah. She’d understand.

 

“We’ll do it soon,” he said. “No more bitching!”

 

_Goody! This will be so much fun!_

 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

 


	15. Chapter 14

# Part Two: Chapter Fourteen

****

“This must be the place.”

 

Peter checked the address again. The paper in his hands was slightly crinkled from how tightly he had held it all the way to the house, but he was so scared of letting it go that he had to hold it tightly. It was difficult to read the hastily scribbled address and directions, simply as he hadn’t realised how much he had been nervously sweating this whole time, but the writing was still legible and it was also pretty clear that – _yes_ – this was the right house. He bit his lip nervously.

 

He looked up at the building and wondered if maybe he had taken a wrong turning, or if maybe there were several streets with the same name, because this seemed like a rather dangerous place for a blind woman that lived alone. There were a lot of steps up to the house itself, and the walls on either side of them were so low that they provided nothing to grab onto or help with balance. The house itself looked incredibly large too, with big bay windows and what looked like a large garden out back, and he couldn’t help but think about the upkeep and the safety hazards. This guy – this _Weasel_ – had told him the truth, hadn’t he? This wasn’t some sort of scam?

 

It had taken Peter nearly _two months_ to find Weasel, as well as using up every single favour that he had owed and every ounce of money he had saved, but eventually he had managed to set up a video-conference with – what was _supposedly_ – Deadpool’s closest ally and friend. _No,_ he didn’t know where Deadpool had hidden himself. _No_ , he couldn’t pass on any messages to Deadpool. _Yes,_ he knew exactly who might be willing to talk to Peter about those exact points. It had taken him over an hour to get from Stark Tower to this suburb of the city, but . . . he had _finally_ found it.

 

_‘Are you a salesman?’_

Peter jumped a little and looked around. He quickly shoved the paper into his pocket, and cleared his throat so that he wouldn’t sound as nervous as he felt. It was then that he realised the voice had come from the other side of the door, which caused him to self-consciously run a hand through his hair and put on a bright smile, but then – with a hint of embarrassment – he remembered that this Al was supposedly blind. He bit his lip nervously and hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

 

“No, ma’am! I’m – er – actually a friend of Wade’s?”

 

_‘Are you asking me or are you telling me?_

“Telling you?”

 

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door. He was fairly certain that he could hear the noise of a trigger, which meant that this lady – even if elderly and blind – had a weapon on her person, and he would be willing to bet that this weapon was trained on him. He drew in a nervous breath and took a step to the side. It wouldn’t do much good, because if he spoke then she would just change her aim, but at least it gave him a chance. He hoped she was the sort to aim to immobilise, rather than the type that aimed to kill. Any friend of Wade’s would probably tend to the latter.

 

_‘You a friend that wants to kill him?’_

“No! Never! I just want to make sure he’s okay! It’s been three months –”

 

 _‘What kind of friend of Wade’s_ doesn’t _want to try to kill the scumbag? Listen here, you -! I’ve been with that boy through his very worst, and his worst could make even Dr. Phil cry in shame, so I don’t take well to no kids that come here and try to hurt him any! You don’t want to kill him? Right. The only people come to find him are the ones that want to hurt him! Less suspicious if you_ did _want to kill the son of a bitch!’_

“L-look! I don’t want to hurt you and I _definitely_ don’t want to hurt Wade! I’m just really worried about him, that’s all! He – he means a lot to me!” Peter let out a sigh. “C-can we start again? My name is Peter. Peter Parker? Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like a ‘Bond, James Bond’ kind of –”

The door clicked open.

 

It made him incredibly nervous to hear the multiple clicks of locks and chains and bars all being slid open, especially when the door itself opened ever so slowly and with such a loud creak, but he forced himself to draw in a deep breath and remain calm. He had no idea what he had said that convinced her to open her door to him, but he was grateful to say the least that she had taken that chance and was willing to talk to him. He felt – finally – one step closer to finding Wade.

 

The woman that opened the door was older than he expected. He blinked away his surprise and scratched the back of his neck nervously, especially when he thought about what she had said about seeing Wade through his worst. This seemed to be more like a mother figure than a friend. It may have been a little childish, like a boy with his first crush, but he suddenly _really_ wanted to make a good impression with her, because he knew that this woman’s opinion on him would likely impact Wade’s opinion on him in turn. This was also the only link he had to finding Wade, so the smallest offence given might well destroy his one chance at finding the older man.

 

“So you’re Peter Parker,” she said.

 

The older woman gave nothing away with her expression. It was a hard and emotionless gaze, but one that bore into him even through her thick and black glasses. There was something strange about her that Peter couldn’t quite place; she seemed every bit like your typical elderly lady, complete with a flower-patterned dress and dangling earrings, but there was also a hard edge to her that intimidated him. He couldn’t underestimate her because of her wild white hair or fragile frame.

 

“Er – yeah – you’ve heard of me?”

 

“Nah, I just like repeating people’s names.”

 

“Oh, well, I – er – guess that . . . makes sense? Okay, so –”

 

“You’re rather gullible for the son of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts,” snapped Al. “Listen here, Buster, I don’t have time for no games. You want me to think that you’re Peter Parker, you’ll have to prove it! Make me believe you.”

 

Al lifted her cane and prodded him in the chest. It actually hurt pretty bad, which made him frown and instinctively lean away from her, but she got in a couple more jabs before she put her cane down. He wasn’t sure if he found her annoying or found her impressive, but – in either case – he found himself rather stuck for words. What was he supposed to say to prove his identity to her? He began to look around in a desperate hope that something would give him an idea about what to say.

 

“I – I don’t know what’s Wade told you –”

 

“Tictock! The clock’s a ticking!”

 

“W-wait!”

 

He shot his hand out to stop the door from closing in his face, but he saw the lowering of her eyebrows and the tension in her fist upon her cane, and so he jumped back and lifted both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. It was difficult to say just what she would do should he overstep his bounds, but he didn’t want to find out! There wasn’t much time to think, especially with the pressure she put on him for an instant answer, and he found himself beginning to panic.

 

There was no way that he could assume that Wade had told her _everything_ , as he couldn’t risk his identity as Spider-Man being leaked, but he couldn’t believe that Wade would tell her anything small or trivial or intimate either. Why would Wade care about those things? He probably hadn’t told her the big stuff like his secret identity, but he probably wouldn’t tell her silly things like his favourite cereal or favourite song either. The only problem was that he had clearly told her _something_ , else how would she recognise his name or know enough to expect to tell him apart from any other stranger on the street? Peter groaned in frustration.

 

“I – I really don’t know what to say!” Peter confessed. “W-Wade drew me a picture when he found out my girlfriend died, which I – er – framed and have on my wall? He – he’s seen it. He said I was a total chick and that _I_ should be the one to be wearing dresses. I also caught him buying a plush toy of Spider-Man, which he sulked about for a whole evening until I bought him _and_ the plush toy tacos!

 

“Oh! I know that he doesn’t actually like chimichangas, but he buys them anyway as he really loves saying the name! I know he has a daughter that he’s never actually met, but he never talks about her . . . he said that the one and only time he saw her that he knew he couldn’t be in her life, that she was too beautiful to be his or corrupted by him. I – I know he had to kill his one and only friend during his time in hospital after recovering from the experiments, but he never forgave himself! I know that he thinks he’s worthless, and that he’ll get _really_ pissed if you tell him that he’s beautiful –”

 

“Good Lord, is _that_ why he’s been so miserable for the past few months?” Al snapped. “That boy -! He can’t even sleep through the night without night terrors, but you know what bloody scares him more than anything? _You_.”

 

“I – I – I never meant to hurt him in any way! I swear I –”

 

“Hush! Hush! Get inside, will you?”

 

It was hard to ignore her when her cane struck the back of his legs. He felt like he was being herded inside, but he ignored it for the fact that he finally had her full attention and trust. There was the horrifying sense of dread that maybe she was right, because the very idea of causing Wade any kind of pain was enough to bring back all his old feelings of guilt and shame, and – after what he had done to Gwen – he knew he couldn’t bear hurting anyone else in that way ever again, least of all Wade.

 

He drew in a deep breath and tried to remind himself that this lady clearly had a lot to say, and perhaps she could shed light on the situation . . . she might be able to tell him where he went wrong, how he could make it right . . . he gave a sad smile as he stood awkwardly in the hallway and waited for her to say something. She didn’t. There was a long moment of her taking her time to lock the door back to the way it had been, whilst she then turned around and struck him rather firmly on the back of his legs once more. He frowned and watched as she headed through a door to the side, before he followed her in and hoped that his legs wouldn’t bruise.

 

The room he found himself in was a rather minimalist kitchen, but one that was bright and airy. It made him feel at home. Al pushed a chair to one side and signalled for him to sit down, before she moved to a counter to turn on an electric kettle and pulled out a couple of mugs, and he noted – with some curiosity – that the mugs had a strange kind of handle with various settings on the side. Al adjusted the settings and muttered something under her breath. He wondered how she knew where everything was or how much water to pour or what items were which.

 

“Wade is a soft soul for a hard man,” she muttered.

 

Peter jumped in his seat. He hadn’t realised how lost in thought he had been, but her voice broke him from his reverie and brought him back into the moment. He could see the sad smile that she wore, as well as the way that she bent nearly in two as she leaned against the counter, and he could sense something dark and tragic in her that was hard to express. The kettle let out a stream of steam and the button clicked into its off position, which meant that she had probably had the kettle on boil before he had arrived. Peter wondered if she had been making a cup for herself or had anticipated his arrival somehow. It was clear that there was more to her than met the eye.

 

He watched as Al dropped a teabag into each mug, along with milk and sugar, and he watched as she read the Braille with ease upon the jars and drawers. The mugs – specially designed – whistled when they became full, which Peter made a point to remember as it seemed a useful feature for any technology, and it was then just a case of her removing the teabags. It was actually a beautiful cup of tea. He had no problems drinking it when she sat it before him.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“It’s no trouble at all.” Al sat down beside him. “I always find a hot drink conducive to conversation, don’t you? Now then, I want to talk to you very seriously about our Wade, and I want you to listen to me very clearly, do you understand?”

 

“I – I understand, but please -! I’m really worried about Wade. I don’t know whether he told you about the last time we spoke, but I really did mean every word that I said! I love Wade, I really do, and it’s not because I’m trying to manipulate him or get anything from him or to hurt him! I can’t say if I still would have loved him had we met under any other circumstances, I just know – here and now – that I love him and want him to be happy. It scares me he could be alone right now.”

 

“It scares me, too. That boy uses those boxes of his like a crutch,” she explained. “It’s how he staves off true madness, even if it makes him look crazy to folks like us. The problem is that they won’t keep him in line for long. He _thinks,_ that boy. He lets his mind go round and round and round, until he’s mulled the same problem over a thousand times, and then he can’t think of nothing else.”

 

“I – I know, which is why I’m scared! I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

 

“Too late for that. You want to ask who else he’ll hurt.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Al sipped her tea and leaned back. It was as if she had this same conversation a million times over, so that the words and actions had lost all meaning to her, and – in a way – perhaps she had done exactly that. Peter knew that he had played over his questions in an endless loop, always searching for reasons and explanations, and Wade was such a mystery that it was natural his mother figure would also question it.

 

“Wade’s a simple lad,” she said. “I know it don’t seem that way, but he’s as simple as a maths problem in a Kindergarten class. You remember how I said that _you_ scare him? You think about why I said that? Wade is so full of self-loathing that I honestly don’t know how he wakes up each morning. I’ve cradled his head in my lap as he’s wept more times than I can count. He’s had more night terrors than you’ve had hot dinners. He hurts himself enough that he’d be institutionalised, were he not a mutate.

 

“That kid doesn’t think himself worthy of love. It scares him. The mother of his kid freaked out when she saw his face, supposedly threw up, and the one girl he loved more than anything died in his arms. He’s had his worst fears confirmed over and over again, so that he can’t think of himself any other way. He doesn’t expect anything from his partners . . . it don’t matter if they cheat on him, if they leave him, even if they just use him for his cash or skills . . . the only thing that he cares about is that they don’t see his face. He doesn’t like pity. He doesn’t like people playing him for a fool either. Guess what? You’ve done both in his books.

 

“You’ve seen his face. You claim to love him. The two are mutually exclusive, aren’t they? Oh, it’s not just how he _looks_ , but he sees _himself_ as a monster too . . . you don’t know how hard it is to hear your boy _weeping_ , all because some cold-hearted bitch used him without his permission and he blames _himself_ for it! He doesn’t think he’s unlovable; in his mind he _knows_ it. He loves you. That’s why you terrify the bejesus out o’ him. He hears you saying all those things and he starts getting sad, because it makes him think of things he can’t have. He thinks you’re saying it to hurt him.”

 

“I’m not saying it to hurt him, I swear,” pleaded Peter. “I’ve felt this way for a long time and I know what it is that I feel! He might think that I’m just leading him on, but frankly it’s an insult! I would never – _ever_ – play with his emotions like that! I’ve always supported him, always thanked him for a job well done, and I’ve always treated him just like any other person! _I love him_!”

 

“Telling someone you love them doesn’t undo decades of pain! By God, boy! No wonder he wants to make you wait! You’re just a kid! You don’t understand it at all, do you? Look, you want to be careful. Once he’s done acting in, he’ll act out.”

 

“So what? You’ll think he’ll turn to killing again?”

 

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

 

Al leaned dangerously back in her chair. There was a part of Peter that feared she would fall over, but she kept her balance admirably and folded her hands across her stomach in a rather relaxed manner. He wished he could see behind those glasses, because he just knew that her eyes would reveal her feelings and motives more honestly than her words ever could, but he had to trust that she really did have Wade’s best motives at heart. It sounded like she knew him rather well.

 

The idea that Wade could take out his pain on someone else, that he could even _kill_ someone else, was a thought that was almost unbearable. He had been so much better lately and helped so many people, but for all that to be undone because of Peter -? It was irresponsible of him. He should have taken longer to breach the subject with Wade, to make sure that the older man knew that he was serious and could be trusted, and yet he had let his emotions get the better of him and told Wade without thinking how the other man would react. He feared that he had set Wade back. He couldn’t deal with that kind of guilt, especially when Wade had been doing so well!

 

“He wants to be a hero,” Peter muttered.

 

“Nah, he wants _recognition_ ,” snapped Al. “You told him that once, didn’t you? That boy doesn’t want to save people _or_ to kill them. He just wants someone to hold him at night and tell him that he’s no monster, that he’s _worth_ something, and even then it’ll take _years_ of love to numb the pain, let alone make the pain go away! You confused him and hurt him. He thinks he’s not worthy of your love and yet wants it, whilst you told him you love him and he thinks you’re playing him. He’s hurt.

 

“He’ll fall back on what’s comfortable. He’s used to being the monster and used to being hated. You hate him and he can deal with that, _everyone_ hates him anyway! He can take that pain and handle it. You being in love with him is scary, because it requires a level of trust a boy that broken doesn’t have! He’ll want you to hate him. He’ll hurt someone close to you. He won’t want to, but that’s what he does. If he pushes you away so much that you leave him, he can turn around and say: ‘I told you I was a monster’. You walk away and it’ll be under _his_ terms, he can fool himself into thinking he _wanted_ you to leave, so it’s not really a rejection.”

 

Peter leaned on the table. He ran his hands over his face and drew in a shaky breath, even as he internally cursed himself for adapting a pose exactly like his father, which – in itself – made him feel somewhat worse. It was hard to understand how anyone could leave someone _before_ they left them! If Wade was so afraid of being unloved and alone, why reject and refuse any offer of love that came his way? It felt counter-intuitive and nonsensical. Peter shook his head and looked to Al with a cynical look of confusion. It was clear that she believed what she said, but it sounded so illogical.

 

“That – that doesn’t make any sense!”

 

“It doesn’t have to,” said Al. “Fears are irrational things.”

 

“Yeah, but -! I really do love him! I mean . . . does he have _any_ idea how hard it was for me to admit to any of this? I – I was so guilty at first, because I lost Gwen and I felt like it was betraying her to feel this way for anyone else . . . I couldn’t stop how much I loved him, so . . . so I just embraced it. I knew he might hate me for it, but it was a risk that I had to take! I faced my fears!”

 

“Bully for you! You expect everyone to live up to your standards? You’ll be damned disappointed, especially if you hold your _romantic_ partners to those standards! Wade isn’t you. This _is_ him facing his fears, so if _this_ drives you insane then you’ll have a lot of problems in your future! You have to be patient with that boy. You’ll be spending _years_ teaching him how to deal with his problems, because – guess what – no one has ever taught him before. You take him for what he is, and then you help him to become the _best_ that he is. Don’t try to make him into something he isn’t.”

 

“I’d never do that, I swear! I love Wade for being Wade, but that’s why it’s so frustrating. He deserves to be happy, but he keeps sabotaging himself, and all I can think how it’s so _unfair_. He really does deserve the best. He has a smile that can light up a room and makes you smile to see it. I just want him to smile like that again.”

 

“You prepared for what a relationship with him entails?”

 

“I feel I am, but what aren’t you telling me?”

 

Al dropped her chair to all four feet, although the slam of wood upon stone floor was loud enough to cause Peter to wince. It was clear that the old woman was looking to him in all seriousness, especially when all trace of humour had been wiped from her face, and she tented her hands and rested her elbows upon her knees. It was when she raised her hands so that her fingers touched her lips that he felt somewhat intimidated, as if he were facing Fury himself or his mother after he’d really screwed up.

 

It was then that he realised there was more to Wade than met the eye, and this woman – the closest thing to a family he had – _knew_ all about him and _knew_ even his deepest secrets. Peter had thought that he had known everything, but clearly there was something that he wasn’t being told, and that something was enough to make Al doubt his commitment to any relationship. He wanted to know what it was, but a part of him felt afraid. He was afraid that it might be something unforgivable or that would change the way he would forever think of Wade, even though he felt that he knew enough to love him regardless of whatever she confessed to him.

 

“He tell you about the box?” Al asked.

 

“You mean those voices in his head that he –?”

 

“Nah, not those,” she answered. “It’s a bit of a story.”

 

Al finished her tea and walked back to the sink. Peter instinctively stood up to help her wash up, but the cane – tied around her wrist – was suddenly pointed straight at him in a rather threatening manner, even as she kept her back to him. He sat back down with a nervous laugh that descended into a broken mumble, but she merely smiled and made herself another cup of tea. It was a long wait, especially when he so desperately wanted to know what she had to say, and so he broke the silence.

 

“I’ve got time,” said Peter.

 

“You’ll need it,” snapped Al. “Wade has always had a fear of abandonment. I know what you’re thinking . . . you think I’m just some nice old lady that stays with him due to maternal instincts . . . bah! I’m about as maternal as an iceberg. Oh, I love that boy and I owe him a great debt, and I’ve been with him too long to give up on him now, especially when I know that there’s a good soul underneath all that nonsense that turns Wade into Deadpool. It doesn’t change that I was with him by force.

 

“You know what happened when I tried to leave? _He’d kill everyone I came into contact with during that time_. It didn’t matter none whether they were kind strangers or cherished loved ones; he’d kill each and every person that helped me or that I showed a connection with, and he’d do it every time I escaped or tried to leave. He’d punish me on my returns, too. There was this room that he dubbed ‘the box’, which had every torture instrument you can think of, but – to make matters worse – he’d leave traps in there. They’d be shattered glass or knives on the walls . . . he’d move them after my every visit, so I wouldn’t be able to memorise their position, too.

 

“He eventually grew as a person, but not enough that I’d ever fully trust him. I don’t want to see that boy hurt none, just as I won’t let anyone hurt him either, and call it what you want – sympathy, duty, Stockholm syndrome – but I won’t let anyone get away with causing him any harm! Now you know what he’s like: he tortures his closest friends, he forces people he cares about to stay with him, and he has more emotional difficulties than a freaking toddler does. You still want to date him? You still think he’s worth chasing after? Don’t you lie to me now!”

 

Peter drew in a deep breath. It was a good question, which made him not want to rush to give any answer. He thought about how difficult and dangerous a relationship with Wade could – and probably would – become, and he didn’t want to romanticise his relationship and risk hurting them both when reality set in, but the truth was that he didn’t feel any different at all. He wondered whether that was a bad sign. He probably ought to be reluctant after that confession, but he wasn’t at all.

 

“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said. “I still love him.”

 

It was then that Al let a smile break across her features, at which point she leaned back and took a sip of her tea. There was a long silence that followed, in which he almost wondered if she would ever actually respond, and he feared – just maybe – that she really did see him as a naïve kid and would kick him out. There wasn’t a right or wrong answer to such a question, was there?  He couldn’t exactly change how he felt or what he wanted. Al gave a subtle nod of her head. It was a gesture he may have otherwise missed, but he felt – from her – it meant the absolute world.

 

“Alright then,” Al said.

 

“A-alright? So you believe me?”

 

“I do,” she replied. “You’ve got a lot of growing to do, though. You’ll need the patience of a saint and need to realise that Wade has a lot of issues. He used to play some right evil pranks on me as a way of ‘bonding’, only ever nice to me when he was pissed off, that’s the kind of guy that he’s like. You’ll have to teach him from scratch what it’s like to be in an adult relationship. It’ll be hard.”

 

“I – I waited a whole year just to be sure how I felt. I waited to make sure I had my own issues sorted so that I would be ready to take on his, and I wanted to know how I felt so that I could commit to him properly . . . I didn’t want to lead him on. I know how I feel. I know that I love him! Okay, so – so he might not realise that, but I’m not going to bail on him just because it’s a bit difficult! If he pushes me away, I’ll just have to pull back, won’t I? I’m not letting go of him now.

 

“To be honest, I – I feel I could wait forever just to know that he’s okay. I want – I want to talk to him, but he’s hidden away! How can I help him when -? He won’t even _speak_ to me! I’m scared that he’s hurting himself, although now I’m scared that he’s hurting someone else too, but I still accept him for him . . . he’s annoying, he’s insane, he’s violent . . . _he’s Wade_! I owe it to him to help him. I’m not going to give up on him now, not after we’ve been through so much! I would never have thought we’d ever be friends, let alone that I’d love him, but I do! So – so if you can tell me where he is . . . how I can find him . . . please?”

 

Al gave a heavy sigh and leaned her left arm upon the table, at which point she drummed her fingers along the surface and hummed a little in disapproval. It sounded like disapproval, at least. Peter wasn’t sure if she pitied him for loving Wade or thought Wade was too good for him, but – in either case – she seemed to relent and waved her hand in the air with an exasperated gesture and sense of surrender. He bit his lip and waited for what she had to say, but luckily it was good news.

 

“Give me that paper of yours and a pen.”

 

“Er – are you sure? I don’t mind writing down –”

 

“I wasn’t always blind, you idiot! Give me the paper!”

 

He reached into his pocket for the paper that held her address. He turned it to the blank side and then slid it across the table to her, whilst he patted around urgently for a pen and then handed that to her in turn. It was hard not to frown at the way she snatched it from him, but he ignored it when she at once began to scribble furiously on the paper almost as if she were fully sighted. It was pretty impressive how she managed to write so well and so clearly, so that he almost envied her handwriting, and eventually she slid it across the table to him with a huff of breath. He lifted the paper to read the address carefully. It was a pretty decent area.

 

There was a long moment of silence, whilst he tried to work out exactly what the address was and whether Wade would be there waiting for him, when Al coughed loudly and tapped her hand on the table. He jumped a little and then folded the paper in half and put it carefully into his pocket, where he self-consciously kept his hand upon it, half-terrified in case he would somehow lose it or destroy it. He blushed and felt relieved that she couldn’t see him.

 

“That there is his main apartment,” Al said. “Is it legible?”

 

“J-just about, but it looks like you wrote ‘Dick’ instead of ‘Wade’.”

 

“I did. He has a bunch of crummy apartments in most major cities, but that one there is where he currently calls ‘home’. You one you found was the hellhole that he crashes at between jobs or when blowing his brains out. That one there is where he’ll keep guests . . . granted, I’m his only guest, but the spare room is quite cosy for us elderly women. He’s got a job at the minute, though, so wait a week to head there.”

 

“Can’t I just go there now and check it out? I could –”

 

“ _No!”_

The volume with which she shouted scared him. There was a look of sheer panic upon her face and her skin seemed to grow pale beyond all sense, and he could even see a small tremor to her hand. What could have spooked her? It couldn’t be that the place was some sort of secret, not when she was willing to send him there without any concern, but for some reason it was impossible for her to even conceive him going there in that precise moment. What difference would a week even make?

 

“Don’t be a bloody idiot!” Al cried.

 

“W-what’s that supposed to mean? I only –”

 

“You _never_ drop by unannounced! You _never_ invade his personal space! I don’t care who you think you are, Wade is _extremely_ protective of his privacy! If he loves you in return, he might just hurt you or lock you away, but if he doesn’t feel affection for you then he’ll _kill_ you outright. Listen to me: _never invade his privacy_! Go by in a week or so and knock the damned door. Hell, ring him in advance, if you can.”

 

Peter swallowed hard. It was clear that her warning was not to be ignored, but he couldn’t help but think of how Wade _constantly_ invaded his space and privacy on a regular basis. He wasn’t going to question it, not when he could hear the fear and urgency in the elderly woman’s voice, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the double standard in place. Peter smiled anyway and made a note to ask Wade about it when he saw him, because – if they were to make this work – they would need to work through these kinds of issues . . . if Wade agreed to date him.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“Not a problem. Just tell that boy to swing by from time to time.”

 

“I will, thank you!”

 

There was a faint smile to her lips. It was almost as if she could see him taking the address out from his pocket to read, or as if she knew the way he stared at it with such a desperate hope to see Wade once more, and – even if Wade couldn’t love him – he had to at least save their friendship. Al merely shook her head and leaned back once more, although she did use her cane to strike at his leg in a rather playful manner.

 

“Good, now drink your tea,” she said. “Tastes rotten when it’s cold.”

 

Peter smiled and held the address close to his heart.

 

He would find Wade. He would help him.

 

It would be okay.

 

 


	16. Chapter 15

# Part Two: Chapter Fifteen

 

This will cost you.

 

_Yeah, like what? Five thousand?_

 

I meant emotionally. This will have consequences. 

 

Deadpool rolled his eyes beneath his mask. That was the best warning that they could come up with? Hell, they obviously didn’t know him as well as they thought they did! Wait, they were him, weren’t they? So did that mean he didn’t know himself? _Know himself._ Deadpool chuckled and leaned against the wall. Oh, he _knew_ himself alright, at least in the biblical sense, but that was kind of beside the point. Hey, what _was_ the point? Damn it! He hated when they distracted him like this!

 

He looked around and quickly found himself reminded of what he was supposed to be doing, which – at that point – felt a little unclear. It felt like time had warped itself into some weird-ass _Twilight Zone_ shit, so one minute he would look up to find an hour had passed and then _ages_ later he would look up to find only seconds had ticked by, but it was _so_ annoying! It felt like the clock was mocking him. The bastard thing had to be doing this on purpose, didn’t it? He had made sure to shoot it. The stupid clock hadn’t mocked him then, no sirree! When had he shot the clock? It was so unfair! Now he didn’t know how much time had passed and –

 

You’d have known had you not shot the clock.

 

_Ha! ‘Shot the Clock’! Awesome title for an awesome game show!_

 

Damn, the cancer must have been bad today. He felt all groggy and icky and dizzy, whilst his head had that aching and throbbing pain in it . . . it was like the worst hangover mixed in with the best aftershocks . . . it just made staying conscious a chore. Hey, was this what a cold felt like? He remembered one time when Spidey had sneezed all over the city and did that whole ‘vampire sneeze’ thing and -! Okay, where was he again? It was all so confusing!

 

Let’s just hope you have the right woman.

 

_How many elderly women can there be? It’s so her!_

 

How can you be sure? We’ve been blacking out for several days now.

 

That was true, but he was nearly entirely certain that he had the right woman in there! This house was May’s house, wasn’t it? He looked around to be sure and saw the photos lining the walls; Peter actually looked kind of handsome in some of them, but in others he looked far too young and the thought crept Deadpool out a bit, whilst in other photos the short-haired woman reminded him of Bea Arthur. He had a job to do and he was going to do it! He had to make sure he had the right person, though!

 

This would be so much easier in a few days! The cancer would clear then, having been beaten by his healing factor, and he’d be far more attractive and his head would be clearer and he’d be able to eat tacos and keep them down! Okay, so where was this woman again? Bedroom, right! Deadpool took a running jump, spun in the air with more grace than he knew he had, and then dropped onto the toes of his right foot. He kept his left leg pulled up in a way that the yellow box said looked like a ballet dancer, before he spun around just to see if he could spin around, which he so could, and only now he felt dizzy and his balance was off and -! _Bedroom._ It felt like an invasion of privacy to go in there, but he _was_ shooting someone in there, so –

 

He looked inside to see that she was still asleep. That had to be a good thing! Who else would be in May’s bed aside from May? Okay, so that weird agent guy looked like he might have a thing for her, but then someone mentioned he was into a cello player, and then didn’t he have a team of his own with that kung-fu chick? Huh, was that politically incorrect when she did kung-fu stuff? Wait, why did he care? The point was -! What was the point? Oh yeah! The woman was asleep in bed. He was surprised how much drugs he had needed to knock the biddy out, but out she was!

 

_So do we do it now?_

 

Deadpool lifted his gun out of his holster and scratched his temple. There was a voice somewhere – probably the white box – that told him he shouldn’t do that with the safety off, but it didn’t matter much when he could heal himself back from the grave. He used his free hand to hold onto the doorframe, so that he could lean to the side and look into the bedroom at the elderly lady crashed out on the bed. It felt way too easy to take her out this way. He preferred a challenge.

 

_Last challenge we had got us killed!_

 

If you do this now, there’s no going back.

 

That was true. He was going to _pay_ for the clean up though, because these things cost an absolute fortune and regular cleaners were always so pissy about wiping up blood, which was totally bogus as Deadpool cleaned up his blood all the time! Okay, so it stained and it stank and it had a weird metallic taste if you licked it, but it was just _blood_. Still, he probably would owe it to Peter to at least buy new sheets and mattresses and wallpaper and –

 

Oh yeah, Peter probably wouldn’t _want_ his money, not after this! The room would be totally wrecked and it’d be such a bitch to get clean again, plus whoever walked in to find the corpse with her brains blown out would be pretty traumatised, but then he wondered who would be the one to find her. It would suck should Petey find her! He liked the kid and he didn’t want him to be all sad and have nightmares and stuff, because he _did_ watch his friend and girlfriend die, plus there was his uncle and -! Oh, he could totally leave an anonymous call to one grumpy Stark! Yeah, it’d be traced, but at least then they would _know_ who did it! So . . . half-anonymous!

 

It was necessary, right? He was meant to be a good guy, but it -! It served a purpose and Petey would know _exactly_ what he was capable of and would probably leave him alone, which meant he wouldn’t hurt Petey and Petey wouldn’t hurt him, but still -! It made him nervous to see the old lady passed out on the bed with her hair all splayed out on the pillow, like an elderly Rapunzel. Yeah, there would be no going back.

 

_Come on! I want to shoot someone!_

 

We have enough money to last us a lifetime. We don’t need to do this.

 

_We don’t need to, but we want to! It’ll be fun and we get to see someone else’s brains on the wall for a change! You’re just jealous that you didn’t think of this totally awesome plan! Two birds, one stone, baby!_

 

I only see _one_ bird and _one_ gun. We’ll be hunted like vermin. 

 

_Like they need an excuse to hunt us!_

 

Then why give them one more?

 

Deadpool rolled his eyes. The cash was so freaking good from this job! There was no way that he’d pass it up, because – hey – cash was cash, right? It was basically like _free_ cash, too, because aside from some really awkward stalking and talking and kidnapping then this was pretty easy! The guy that wanted Peter to pay was going to pay a _fortune_ for this hit, plus when it came to collecting the cash . . . _bam_! There would be one less bad-guy and Petey would be safe!

 

_Did we just say that bit aloud?_

 

I don’t think so, but what does it matter? She’s unconscious.

 

_I think she’s stirring! We so better get to work! This will be fun!_

 

There was a slight moan from the woman in the room. It was clear that she was still out of it, as well as groggy and drowsy and a long way away from waking up properly, but the very last thing he needed was a fight or her to move. There was a _look_ to these things! These bloody targets never seemed to realise that! It was way ungrateful, plus this needed to look like a regular hit! He wanted his money. He wanted Peter to get the message. He – he wanted –

 

“Who – who are you? Where am I?”

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered.

 

The old woman began to feel about beside her for something or other, but hit only air in the absence of any beside table or wall, which – in return – caused her to sit up and struggle to look around. _Maybe she needs her glasses?_ Deadpool rolled his eyes. It was dark and she was disorientated and no one was home . . . it would have spooked her to see him in costume too . . . he walked into the room and aimed his gun. It felt a little odd to kill someone so defenceless, was this wrong?

 

He tried to remember whether she had ever seen his face . . . he tried to remember which home he was supposed to go to . . . he tried to remember what a home felt like . . . would this still be a home when she died? It hurt. He could feel his brain in his ear. Wait . . . maybe it was his pulse? Did pulses throb? _Heh, throb_! It hurt. He barely recognised this woman. He couldn’t remember what the plan was or what the point was and _damn_ the writer was so mean to him! He hated this continuity and this story and – where was his gun? In his hand! Yeah, it was in his hand. He would kill her and then go home and then sleep and then the cancer would be gone and then –

 

“Don’t! You – you can’t do this! Let me –”

 

Deadpool shot.

 

He didn’t miss. He shot again.

 

It didn’t matter that she was still. It didn’t matter that her face was unrecognisable. He shot again and again and again. There were five shot in total and nothing was left of her face or head aside from the bloody remains, which now dripped from the side of the bed and onto the floor. Huh, he could taste the blood. It must have splattered onto his mask and outfit. He wanted to change, but he couldn’t risk anyone seeing his face, although would it matter? They had to know he did it. They had to know it was him.

 

The woman’s hand swung slightly at the side of the bed. It was creepy. There was grey matter mixed in with blood and shards of white and splotches of yellow, but he couldn’t tell what was what and the walls were all kind of black in the night, although the blood turned a weird silver when the light hit it just right. It smelled too. He remembered when he had been at the zoo as a child, where there was a horrid smell of faeces and blood and sweat all rolled into one, because – hell – animals did all those things and humans left litter about and it was hot and this was that exact same smell! He wondered if he would ever get used to it. She was dead, right?

 

I hope so.

 

_Our head would grow back!_

 

I think it’s about time we left. You clearly need to lie down.

 

_Not here though, right? The bed’s so icky and gross!_

 

I think we should at least _try_ to get home.

 

_Yay! Home!_

 

Deadpool fell backwards a few steps. He raised a hand to his head and clenched his eyes closed as he tried to regain his balance, but he felt light-headed and dizzy and confused by everything. The gunshots would have attracted attention, right? He would need to get out of there and then – then – then -! Ugh! He opened his eyes and saw the body again and realised what he had done. He needed to leave. It was done and over and he would need to get away, because the police would be here soon, right?

 

He couldn’t remember leaving the house. He couldn’t remember where he went.

 

He _could_ remember running into Iron Man about an hour later.

 

What can I say? I warned you.

 

“Shut up, Brain!”


	17. Chapter 16

# Part Two: Chapter Sixteen

****

“It wasn’t Wade!”

 

Peter glared darkly at Tony. It was hard to stay calm, especially when he could feel his heart beating like a drum within his chest, and he felt light-headed and dizzy. He felt like he was living a nightmare, where everything was so vivid and yet so unreal! This – this wasn’t happening! The sweat on his palms and spots on his vision attested to his fear. That dark and dangerous feeling stole his breath and made the tears well in his eyes, but the truth was too much to bear. No, this wasn’t real!

 

“Peter, I know this is –”

 

“No! You – you don’t know anything! Wade . . . he isn’t . . . he wouldn’t -!”

 

He drew in a staggered breath and wiped at his eyes with the base of his palm. The room suddenly felt cold and outside the sky was black, so that he felt lost and alone despite the presence of his parents and of Bruce. They kept staring at him with such concern and pity, with eyes filled with emotion and unshed tears of their own, and yet they didn’t _know_ Wade as he knew Wade! They didn’t know the truth or how Wade –

 

Tony reached out to clasp Peter’s shoulder, but he smacked away his father’s hand with a rage that he never knew himself capable of containing. He didn’t want petty comforts! He didn’t want false sentiments! The very idea of losing his aunt made him sick to his stomach, so that he could no longer pace or move without retching with every step, and he knew that – had she really been killed – it would destroy him. There was no way that he could lose one more person . . . be responsible for one more death . . . he should have kept quiet and never have confessed. This – this was –

 

“Wade wants to be a hero,” Peter said. “Heroes don’t kill people!”

 

“Look, Peter, you need to calm down! Wade –”

 

“He – he only killed people for cash or that got in his way.” Peter lifted a shaking hand to his temple. “He never kills children. H-he shies away from killing anyone that can’t defend themselves or that isn’t involved in his work! Aunt May is elderly and a good person and has _nothing_ to do with his work! He met her and he liked her! He asks me about her all the time! T-there is no way he would hurt her.”

 

“Peter, listen to me,” said Tony. “Steve and Natasha are at May’s house _right now_. Deadpool shot her in the face multiple times; they can’t even -! Okay, just trust me on this, but there is _zero_ chance of survival! She’s as dead as _Blockbuster Video_!”

 

“Tony!” Pepper snapped. “Show some respect!”

 

“He has to accept facts!”

 

Peter dropped onto the sofa. He could hear Pepper rush to sit next to him, although she resisted the urge to put her arms around him, and he had never been more grateful for space than he had in that very moment. Tony stood opposite him and then paced nervously back-and-forth with his hand over his mouth, whilst Bruce came over and knelt down on the floor in front of him. It was strange to get such affection and attention from a family friend and not his father, but Tony was a man of action. He wanted to make Deadpool pay for hurting his son.

 

It was too much to bear! He loved Wade. He _loved_ him. H-how could he even _think_ that the person he loved could be capable of such evil, because what would it make Peter to be attracted to someone like that? Wade was better than that, especially when he strove to be a better person than he had been in the past, and Peter couldn’t think the worst of someone without real reason to believe the worst! It – it was like a betrayal of Wade, but worse . . . what would it mean were it to be true? He had lost his uncle, his girlfriend and his best friend! Oh God, to lose May, too -! May was his role model and had helped him through his grief . . . she was all he had . . . could it be his love for someone else had resulted in her death? Did he do this to her?

 

Peter dropped his head forward between his legs, where he began to drink in gulping breaths of air and sob brokenly as he considered the worst. He had _just_ returned from Blind Al’s home, which meant that Deadpool must have been in her house during his commute back home, and he had just saw May earlier that day -! No, there was something that they were missing! There had to be a mix-up or a mistake or a reason why Deadpool would do this or -! He couldn’t breathe! He felt sick!

 

“Peter,” said Bruce. “Can you hear me?”

 

“I – I just don’t -!” He swallowed hard and nodded. “I hear you.”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. responded to a report of gunshots. They arrived at your aunt’s house and begun to investigate. They found a woman in your aunt’s bed and dressed in your aunt’s clothes. Natasha says that Coulson has sent blood samples and fingerprints for analysis, because the body cannot be identified from a visual, but – trust us – they have solid evidence this is May Parker. They know Deadpool committed the crime.

 

“I won’t ask you to accept this,” Bruce continued. “I know what it’s like to lose someone and it will be hard to come to terms with, especially given all that you’ve suffered in these past few years. I won’t give you false hope . . . the evidence is pretty clear . . . neighbours saw Deadpool exit, as well as heard the gunshots, plus – from the bloody footprints – we can place him there and no non-mutate can jump that far. You’ll be the first to know the results of the analysis, but I beg you: don’t ignore the facts. I don’t want you to believe the best and discover the worst.”

 

“I – I – I knew he might kill someone,” said Peter. “I spoke – I spoke to someone that knows him . . . it’s just – it’s just that this isn’t like him! I mean it _is_ like him, b-but he didn’t do this! It can’t be May . . . it can’t be!”

 

“Peter, we have to face facts.”

 

He felt a hand on his back. It rubbed at him lightly in circles, as if he had some sort of seasickness or something of the sort. There was a comfort there, but he didn’t want comfort when he knew that – were they right – he had been the one to send Aunt May to her death. The problem was that _Wade_ would have known this too, because he knew just how much Peter grieved for the loss of everyone whose deaths he had a hand in being responsible for, and so why would he do this?

 

There was a moment of silence, in which Tony stopped pacing and Bruce let out a low hiss of breath. Peter took slow and deep breaths, letting the hand calm him, before he sat up and fell back against the sofa cushions. He saw that Pepper was next to him and that she wore a devastatingly sad smile, which was aimed right at him, and she allowed her arm to wrap around his shoulders as he gazed up lifelessly at the ceiling, whilst his head hung back against the sofa-back. Pepper moved close to him and let her right hand clench firmly upon his upper arm, whilst Bruce continued to kneel before him with a sense of resignation. They felt sorry for him.

 

“Wade didn’t do this,” Peter said.

 

“Peter, please,” begged Pepper. “I know this is difficult, but you have to stay strong and try to remain calm. This isn’t your fault. You are _not_ responsible for Wade’s actions any more than May is responsible for his actions. This is tragic and this unfair, and – _God_ – I swear that if I could trade places with you -! You don’t deserve to lose one more person. You don’t deserve to feel this way.”

 

“M-Mom, listen to me! Wade – Wade has issues . . . _real_ issues . . . y-yeah, he may – he may have killed someone, but not Aunt May! I trust him! I trusted him to work with him. I trusted him to back me up. I trusted him to tell me apart from some guy pretending to _be_ me! I don’t know _who’s_ in that bed, but it’s not –”

 

“Peter! _Peter_! It’ll be okay, I swear to you! You just need to –”

 

“ _Wade didn’t do it_!”

 

Peter pulled forward and away from her. He – he couldn’t listen to them any longer, but even if Wade _had_ killed his aunt then there had to be a reason! Wade was arguably quite crazy, as well as somewhat homicidal, but he _idolised_ Spider-Man and he was _fond_ of Peter! Why would he do this? He needed answers. He needed to know that May was safe! He would kill Wade, if the man really had hurt his aunt. He would definitely punch him, if he hadn’t, just for worrying him to the point of insanity!

 

He stood up to his feet, which nearly knocked Bruce off from his, but the older man caught his balance and stood carefully beside Peter with a slight frown. This – this was far too much to even handle! May had spent so many hours listening to him and consoling him, and she had given him great advice on winning back Wade, and to even _think_ that his last words to her had been complaints about his love life -! He had ditched their day out to go find Al and he had been a bad nephew in the process. What would her last thoughts have been? Did she know how much he loved her?

 

It was too much! Peter shook his head with a sigh and made to storm away and out of the room, especially when the address of Wade felt like it had burned a hole in his pocket! He needed to find Wade! He needed to confront Wade! Peter marched forward, but Tony grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him back, which was – honestly – something of a shock to his system. Tony wouldn’t let go. It actually hurt!

 

“Peter, you need to stay here,” snapped Tony.

 

Peter yanked his arm. Tony yanked it back. He struggled and pulled, but his father held tighter until he was pretty certain that he could feel a bruise forming. It hurt and it was sore and he just wanted to get away! He needed to find Wade! Tony forced him to stand in front of him and put both hands onto Peter’s arms, so that his son had no choice but to look straight at him, and – even as Peter made to hit him in desperation – he only blocked his son’s hits and then held tight onto him again. It left Peter in tears that he hadn’t even realised he had shed. He was _crying_!

 

“Son, I know you want to get out there and fight,” said Tony. “Deadpool pulled a dick move and hit you where it hurts, but you have to leave the fighting to us. You have to ask yourself, Peter, why did he do this? The only reason why you make such a bit hit is to get a big splash! He’s doing this to lure you out! I don’t know . . . maybe he has a hit on you or maybe he’s just crazy, but he _wants_ you to go to him!”

 

“He didn’t _do_ this, Dad! You have to let me go! I can prove it! I – I can go to him and I can talk to him and I can – I can – Dad, y-y-you have to let me go with you! I swear that it wasn’t Wade! If – if it was then it couldn’t have been May! I swear!”

 

“Peter, you think you have it bad? You lost a few people and that hurt, which sucks worse than one of those ego-blowing S.H.I.E.L.D. files with your name on it, but you know what, kiddo? You aren’t the only one to lose people! I’ve lost my parents, my role model, my friends . . . I nearly lost myself once! I didn’t think I’d ever be a hero, although – hey – it’s a nice rush and a damned good ego-trip, but I don’t live to be the hero of the city. I live to be _your_ hero!

 

“Do you know how _badly_ I want a drink? I know you hate alcohol and I know that _I’m_ the reason why you’ll probably grow to be teetotal, but – let me tell you – nothing numbs pain better than a delicious glass of whiskey! I could _kill_ for a glass right now. Seriously. Okay, well, maybe not kill a _human_ , but maybe an insect or small reptile or a fish . . . okay, okay, but my point? I _don’t_ drink. I _don’t_ drink, because _you’re_ my reason _not_ to drink! You make me try to be a better person. You’re my _son,_ Peter! If someone hurts my son, they hurt me. You don’t have to worry about revenge, kid, because that bastard is going to be shitting blood for _years_ when I’m done!”

 

Peter pulled away. It was difficult to breathe, but he managed to keep enough breath to stay focussed on the matter at hand. He looked to his father with more anger than he had ever felt, along with a hint of disgust that _no one_ was willing to listen to him, and he felt afraid. He felt afraid that – in their desperation to protect him and avenge him – they would hurt someone innocent in all of this, because there was no way that Wade would have killed May. He just wouldn’t!

 

“I don’t _want_ revenge,” Peter snapped.

 

There was a dark silence about the room, where he could feel all eyes on him and practically feel their pity. They didn’t understand! He wasn’t just some naïve teenager that wanted to believe in the best of his friend, but rather he was nearly an adult that had experienced more than most adults his age, and he knew – _without a doubt_ – that there was more to this than met the eye! They just needed to listen to him!

 

“I – I just need to speak to him!”

 

“No, Peter,” said Tony. “I don’t often put my foot down, but I’m doing so with this! I am not going to stand by and deliver you into the hands of some psychopath that probably hasn’t had one shred of real emotion in his life! He’s done this for a reason! He’s probably trying to lure you out! I am _not_ going to let you die! I’m a selfish bastard and you’re my son and I need you! You’re staying here!”

 

“Your father’s right,” Pepper interrupted. “There a lot of people that depend upon you, Peter. Mary Jane, Ava, Luke, Danny and Sam . . . the city depends upon you too . . . _we_ depend on you. We love you! Please, don’t argue with us. It’s our job to protect you and we can’t let you walk into danger. I can’t lose you.”

 

“W-what if I go with my team?” Peter asked. “I’d have back-up and –”

 

“Your team is already out there.”

 

The news hit him harder than the news about May. This – this felt like such an intense betrayal . . . it was like they really couldn’t trust him to stay objective or rational or not to get hurt . . . his team – new recruits without much experience – had been sent out to find _his_ friend, without _their_ leader. Peter began to hyperventilate again, desperately heaving in huge gasps of air, whilst he ran a shaking hand through his hair. They really believed the worst in Wade. They really believed that he was just some naïve kid! Did his mother and Ava really think him so love-struck? Did his father and Fury really think of him as some innocent little child?

 

He found himself held suddenly by Bruce, who clasped Peter’s face between his hands and gave a sad smile, which forced the younger man to look right at him with a sense of fear and despair. Bruce would spout empty platitudes, about how they denied him his right to be in the fray in order to keep him safe, whilst his suspicions that May was safe somewhere – anywhere – were just symptoms of a deep denial. He knew what they would say. He knew it.

 

“Your team tracked Deadpool to a place near Sunset Apartments,” Bruce said.

 

“T-they’re in the wrong place! That’s just a place he uses for work and to crash, but he has another place somewhere else! If – if he’s there then he’s just trying to lure you out or he has an escape plan! Trust me, he has no reason to be there!”

 

“Peter, listen to yourself!” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your team found Deadpool and they’re keeping an eye on him right now . . . your friend is covered in blood and brain matter and _God only knows_ what else . . . he was seen fleeing from the house where _your aunt is lying dead in her bed_. . . we know he killed her! You stay here! The Avengers will interrogate him and we’ll find out _why_ he did this!”

 

“Dad, just hold off for an hour and let me –”

 

“Stay here, Peter. We’re going.”

 

Tony pointed his index finger warningly at his son. It was a little intimidating, and at that moment he could feel his mother stand behind him and Bruce pulling away, so that the wheels were already in motion. Tony’s expression softened considerably, before he moved forward and pulled Peter into a rather touching and sincere hug, and he even leant down to place a soft kiss to his son’s unruly hair. It meant the world to Peter. He knew his father hated these sentimental displays. Tony even appeared embarrassed and awkward when he pulled away, which made him smile.

 

“This will be over with soon,” said Tony.

 

He watched as his father nodded to Bruce and walked away. The other man merely sighed and rubbed at his face, before he waved a broken goodbye to Peter and followed his friend and colleague out of the living room. They would get ready to find Wade. They would get ready to arrest him. He dreaded to think how they would react to the man that had supposedly killed his aunt, but – worse than that – he dreaded to think how _he_ would react were it to be true. He was scared.

 

It was then that he felt his mother hold tight to his shoulder, almost as if she sought to ground him and keep him balanced. He wanted to weep or scream or fight, much as he had felt when his uncle had died not long after he had been granted his powers, but this time it was different! He didn’t know if May had died, but he couldn’t allow himself to believe it. He was in an awful state of limbo. The world around him assumed the worst, but Wade was the _one_ person that he could trust and the _one_ person that he had come to love, and to think the worst of him -! No. He had to find Wade. He had to beat them to it! He still had the address in his pocket, didn’t he?

 

“It’ll be okay, Peter,” said Pepper.

 

“No, you guys aren’t listening to me! I – I know I’m just a kid to you and to Fury and to Coulson . . . hell, even Wade thinks I’m still too young, but -! I _know_ Wade and I _know_ he wouldn’t do something this stupid! Everyone thinks he’s just some lunatic with a gun, and – sure – sometimes he may act that way, but usually there’s a real method to his madness! He just _fakes_ the extent of the stupid and the crazy! He – he is either hiding something or he had a good reason or – or – or he didn’t _do_ this!”

 

“Peter, you love Wade and that’s . . . okay,” she said with a struggle. “You’re letting your affections for this man blind you, which is what I was worried about. You’re too young for a real relationship, let alone with an adult, and Wade is a dangerous man and he’s taken advantage of your trust. I’m so sorry you had to lose May, but –”

 

“Forget it. I’m going to my room! Just – just leave me alone!”

 

“Peter, it’s going to be okay, I promise! You just –”

 

“ _Leave me alone!”_

He broke off her touch and walked away. There was no way that Pepper would follow him, as she would expect him to break into tears or sleep for days on end, but – as much as he was tempted to do just that – he had to get to Wade. He headed straight for his room, just as he said. The only difference was that this time he didn’t cry, because he was too overwhelmed for tears, as well as too desperate to protect Wade from the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. when he might not even _deserve_ their wrath!

 

It was too quiet in his room, which would pose a problem. He couldn’t let his mother know that he had left the tower, let alone his room, and so he locked the door and barricaded it with his chairs and various boxes, before he then turned his stereo on so loud that no one would be able to hear him from within or he hear those from without. There wasn’t time to discuss what he had planned, especially when he knew that she would stop him or send someone to stop him. He had Wade’s address. He would go there and wait for him. He would find out the truth and prove Wade didn’t do this! May had to be okay. There was no other alternative . . . she just had to be okay!

 

He quickly stripped to reveal the Spider-Man costume beneath his clothing, before he raided the drawer in which he hid his costume. It took only a brief moment to pull on the gloves, boots and mask. The windows opened easily and his web-shooters were in place, and – if he took a slight detour – he could avoid running into any other superheroes entirely, which would prevent him being stopped or returned home. It didn’t matter about Al’s warnings. Wade wasn’t entitled to privacy after a stunt like this, and he needed answers. He needed to prove Wade was innocent.

 

“Don’t prove me wrong, Wade, please.”

 

_Please don’t prove me wrong!_

Spider-Man made his move.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 17

# Part Two: Chapter Seventeen

****

Bruce took a deep breath.

 

It was difficult to remain calm in the face of an intense interrogation. The air felt thick with tension, so that all eyes were fixed impatiently upon Deadpool, and it had become an incredible challenge to mediate the two sides effectively. He could understand the desire of Tony to exact revenge, but there were protocols and procedures in place, and – not to mention – Deadpool was a man that _thrived_ on drama and conflict. This was a man that took _pleasure_ in every rant around him.

 

Bruce reached up to remove his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he tried to stave off a migraine that threatened to become something so much worse. He needed to remain as calm as possible. There had been a time in recent years when he had allowed himself to be manipulated by a certain Asgardian, and – as frustrating as that had been – there had been a certain dignity in having momentarily fallen to Loki, but to succumb to the likes of Deadpool would be absolutely humiliating. No, that wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t even the mercenary testing his last nerve . . . it was Tony. He drew in slow and deep breaths and counted internally to ten.

 

_One, two, three . . ._

 

“Tony!” Steve snapped. “This is _not_ how we deal with suspects!”

 

“No, this isn’t how _you_ deal with suspects!” Tony screamed. “What? We’re doing the whole ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing now? That lowlife broke into May’s house, then shot her dead in her bed, and now my son is _devastated_ all because of _him_! You found the body! You know _exactly_ what he did and you’re _protecting_ him! Listen, _Captain_ , you might have led men in the war, but you _don’t_ lead me!”

 

“Tony, we cannot descend to his level! We have a job to do and we’ll do it right, so that we can uphold the values we swore to protect! If you can’t approach this without bias, I’ll have to ask you to leave. We are to hold him until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives. You do not assault the prisoner! This is not an excuse for revenge!”

 

“Bullshit! Bruce, back me up here! That guy forfeited his rights when he killed May!”

 

“Prisoners still have rights,” Steve said.

 

“Not this one!”

 

_Thirty._

Bruce opened his eyes again. He put on his glasses and looked to Steve and Tony, although both of which had seemingly forgotten his presence and that of the other Avengers in the process. They stood tall and faced one another directly, all in front of the ‘prisoner’ in question, who looked to them with a smile that was visible through his black-and-red mask. The room suddenly felt ice-cold, and he could hear both men pant and saw the tension to their muscles, with fists clenched tight.

 

He looked about the room to see Natasha on high-alert by the apartment doors, whilst she occasionally shot glances to the men in the centre of the lounge and spoke to S.H.I.E.L.D. periodically, and Clint had chosen to keep watch by the windows with his arrow poised ready to shoot. They didn’t expect anyone to come to Deadpool’s defence, but – knowing the mercenary as they did – it was best to prepare for the worst-case scenario and to consider anything else an absolute victory. Deadpool actually seemed rather relaxed. It was suspicious. Deadpool had been taped to the old armchair so much that he now resembled a recently excavated mummy, but he took it in such stride that Bruce sensed something at play. Peter was right: this was wrong.

 

The apartment in which Deadpool had been hiding was in dire condition, and the only ‘personal’ items appeared to be uniforms and weapons, so that it appeared more like a workshop or a place to crash than an actual home. Bruce had looked around and searched for some clues as to what Deadpool had been up to and why, but even his computer appeared to be used solely for work or – regrettably – pornography. This wasn’t Deadpool’s actual home. The fact that the man had greeted them in uniform with a stack of pancakes made it obvious that he _wanted_ to be caught, but . . . why?

 

“I think Peter was right,” said Bruce.

 

Tony and Steve turned to look at him. They were clad in full uniform and both incredibly stressed with recent events, and – had Bruce been any other man – he may have crumbled to their rather intimidating stares. He merely walked towards them and nodded subtly to Deadpool, who had taken to humming a pop piece loudly from behind his mask, although with the strange buzzing that only a man with a broken nose could achieve. He didn’t even struggle against the binding.

 

“Look at him,” Bruce continued. “We tied him up and he’s just sat there. _Quietly_. He hasn’t argued or fought or even tried to bribe any of us. Steve and Natasha are _both_ in the room and he has flirted with neither. Doesn’t any of this seem a little off?”

 

“It’s Deadpool!” Tony snapped. “Of course it seems off! Everything that man does is off! I’m not worried about why he’s so quiet, I’m only worried about whether we used enough tape to tie him to the damned chair! We _should_ have taped his mouth shut, but oh no -! _Cap’sicle_ here decides that’s unethical! So yeah, it’s weird that he hasn’t ran his mouth yet, but everything that freak _does_ is weird, hence _why_ he’s Deadpool!”

 

“You brod my node!” Deadpool answered.

 

There was a frustrated sigh from Steve at that confession. He was a man that disliked unnecessary violence, especially against people incapable of defending themselves, and so this knowledge that Deadpool had actually been _hurt_ – whilst _immobilised_ – would be a rather devastating revelation. He would likely feel guilty solely by association, as the act of violence had occurred under his watch and in his presence, and yet Tony simply shrugged and began to pace needlessly before Deadpool. Bruce felt irritated by the lack of forethought in place. This would likely end badly.

 

“We could question him,” said Bruce.

 

“Uh-huh?” Deadpool replied. “Gib me a sec.”

 

There was a strange movement of his mask, so that the muscles underneath appeared to contort and move in unnatural ways, almost as if he had an itch or an involuntary contraction, and then there was the nauseatingly crude sound of someone seemingly gargling with their own saliva. It was a few moments later when he heard Deadpool spit from behind his mask. Bruce winced despite himself. There followed a spluttering and spitting noise, which was less than pleasant and more than disgusting.

 

“Hard to spit with a mask,” said Deadpool.

 

“Your healing factor kicked in? You’re okay?” Bruce asked.

 

“More or less! I usually spit anyway, but usually my mask is rolled up when I do! This is _way_ more like swallowing than I’d like, which would be bad enough usually, but when it’s all phlegm and blood and icky stuff . . . yuck! I can feel it all around my lips and chin, too, and it’s so going to get my mask all wet, which is awful when it was wet from cancer pus anyway! You know when you go down on a –”

 

“Deadpool? _Wade_? You killed an innocent person. The general consensus is that you killed May Parker, and – in a way – I almost hope that is the case, because to believe otherwise means that May is officially missing and that you’re directly involved. You’re friends with Peter, aren’t you? Tell us what happened . . . for his sake.”

 

“What’s to tell? Hey! I think that punch helped trigger my healing factor!”

 

“Do you mean that it helped to heal your mind?”

 

“What kind of doctor _are_ you, anyway?”

 

“The only one here.”

 

It was a difficult conversation to have. He knew that Wade’s cancer was in constant battle with his healing factor, which meant his physical and mental state was in constant flux, or ‘dependent upon the writer’ according to the man himself, and this often made Wade unpredictable. There were very few people – if any – that could tell whether Wade was genuinely ‘crazy’ or simply feigning psychological disturbances, just as it was difficult to tell whether he would react calmly or violently to any new kind of stimulus. Wade appeared lucid. It did not mean that he _was_ lucid.

 

Bruce walked over to the man and gently felt at his neck, even as Deadpool made a joke about how ‘touching’ his worry appeared. He didn’t want to fumble around for a pulse on his wrist, because that would mean going behind the armchair to his bound arms and putting the man’s head and legs out of sight, and so he carefully pulled the mask up just enough to feel the pulse at the neck. It was steady. There was, however, a strange sound that reminded him of sawing or cutting. He pulled away.

 

“Do you guys hear that?” Bruce asked.

 

They stood in silence for a long moment. It was almost like a scratching noise coming from somewhere close by, but it stopped no sooner than they had noticed the sound. Bruce circled the chair and looked around, just as he also cast his gaze to each of his colleagues in the hope that they may have discovered the source or have been the source, but instead they looked back with a sense of confusion. Steve gave a subtle nod to say that he had heard something, but Tony was completely perplexed.

 

“I don’t hear anything,” said Clint.

 

“I heard it,” answered Natasha. “If anyone hears it again, keep quiet and listen out for a source. It may be nothing, a place like this attracts more rats than H.Y.D.R.A., but just in case we need to stay alert and focussed on the task at hand.”

 

Deadpool began to whistle to himself, but the tune was unfamiliar to Bruce and sounded as if it could have come from an obscure musical. It was then that the tied-up mercenary began to half sing and half mumble some lyrics; it sounded like a song about a scorpion’s tail or tale, although it was difficult to tell which and Deadpool burst out into a fit of giggles when he got to a repetitive refrain that featured the word ‘prick’. Bruce ran a hand over his face in exasperation.

 

“Why are you singing?”

 

“Why not?” Wade said. “You rather listen out for some random scratching noise? My songs are much better to listen too! _He sings like an angel!_ Yes, but the song choice is a little on the nose, don’t you think? Hey, why don’t you have a theme song?”

 

“A theme -? Wade, please. We just need to know _why_ you killed May.”

 

“I don’t know! Why do _you_ need to know?”

 

“You really hurt Peter’s feelings.”

 

There was a low and childish groan from Deadpool. He began to bang his head continuously on the back of the armchair, even though the cushioned back made actual damage physically impossible. It was difficult to tell exactly what his motive was for the sudden outburst, because it certainly wasn’t guilt at having hurt Peter, and it felt as if he were rolling his eyes beneath the mask. There followed a gagging and retching noise, as Deadpool continued to act out.

 

It was then he heard a sudden ripping noise, which happened at the exact same time as Deadpool let out of heavy sigh, and Bruce could see a strong pattern emerging that revealed far more than the mercenary probably realised. Bruce found himself torn between putting a stop to the fruitless endeavour and allowing it to continue, because he couldn’t help but bear in mind Peter’s words. It felt as if, by allowing Deadpool to do as he wished, that they may get one step closer to figuring out just what exactly was going on in the other man’s mind and deciphering his actions.

 

“No more Oprah moments,” Deadpool begged.

 

“Clearly the ‘good cop’ act isn’t working,” Tony snapped.

 

“True, but neither is the giant iron-asshole act! Hey, you want to know why I killed the old fart? Simple! I did it because I _can_! I got offered more money for one job than you spend on drinks in a week! Look, are you guys going to keep me here –”

 

“I _knew_ that I should have stopped this insane friendship!” Tony threw his hands in the air in desperation. “So what is this? You get close to my son in order to find out his identity? You _kill_ his aunt in some petty revenge over . . . what exactly? I thought you wanted to be a hero! Well, newsflash: heroes don’t _murder_ innocent old ladies just for a wad of cash! May was a good woman!”

 

“That so? Well, that woman didn’t seem all that good to me! Here I thought that you gadget geeks had all the latest technology and information! Tell you what, why don’t you get back to me when you find out what’s _really_ going on? The truth is that I kind of did this _for_ your son . . . ugh, I hate these emotional moments!”

 

“What do you mean that you did this for Peter?”

 

“Uh-uh! That would be telling!”

 

Tony let out a long hiss of breath. It was difficult to see the other man looking so downtrodden and frustrated, because Bruce knew – from experience – that Tony struggled greatly to deal with his emotions in a controlled and constructive manner. The fact that his son had been hurt so deeply, especially in a manner that played on his deepest fears and insecurities, would infuriate Tony into a state that would put even _the other guy_ to shame. Tony drew in a deep breath and gave a very cold smile, then pointed a shaking finger at Wade.

 

“It’s not May, is it?”

 

There was a collective sense of relief from the group. Deadpool merely laughed and shrugged as best as he could from beneath the tape, and then cocked his head to one side and let a smile play itself through the mask. It was hard to ignore the scratching noise that came about again, but this time it appeared to stop before Bruce even had a chance to open his mouth and warn his colleagues about what he heard. Deadpool dropped his head forward and seemed to glare at Tony.

 

“I was _tempted_ , I won’t lie.”

 

“So who the hell did you kill?”

 

“Dude, like I said! There was this guy that knows Petey and figured out he was all Spider-Man and stuff! It’s a _real_ personal grudge. I mean, you kill someone’s son and suddenly -! _Bam_! It’s a no holds barred death-match! I figured I’d take his hit on May. You know, one of those ‘you hurt my loved one and I’ll hurt yours’ things! It was pretty lame, but if you guys hold off on your super-sleuthing for _just_ another hour or so, then I hit the jackpot! You can do that, right? Don’t worry. It’s the guy’s sister.”

 

“Oh, yeah, _sure_!” Tony snapped. “You kill whomever you like! It’s not as though it’ll distract us from – oh, I don’t know – _saving the planet_! You killed someone and made it look like May, is that it? What the hell are you going to do when this man works out you killed his _sister,_ of all things! You really are crazy!”

 

“I’m not _that_ crazy! When I get out of here, I’ll kill him after I get paid.”

 

“You _really_ think we’ll let you out of here?”

 

Tony made to move forward. It was clear that he was angry, especially when this had all been for nothing and May was now officially missing, but they couldn’t risk Tony beating or hurting Wade in any way or form. The last thing they needed was for the ‘merc with a mouth’ to shut up or instead spout random nonsense, because that would get them nowhere fast. It was important to keep Deadpool on their side.

 

He reached out and held Tony back, even as he winced a little at the feeling of cold metal on his warm hand, and – in that moment – he wondered how his friend could stand being encased so claustrophobically in a metal case. There was a brief moment of that previous scratching noise, but then came a soft snap and the noise stopped, which caused Bruce to feel more tense than when the noise had been something of a constant. Steve took that moment to step forward and address Deadpool directly.

 

“Where is May Parker, Wade?” Steve asked.

 

“See, _that_ I can’t tell you! I’ve seen the movies! The super geniuses that reveal all their plans _always_ get stopped! Hey, how about I just promise you that I’ll let her home safely after I collect my cash, all right? I’ll even drop her ten percent!”

 

“No,” said Tony. “You let her go right now or else, I swear –”

 

“Your phone’s ringing!”

 

Tony made to raise his fist, but the truth was that there actually was a noise coming from his suit that sounded as if J.A.R.V.I.S. wanted his attention. He allowed his mask to cover his face and engaged in a conversation with some unseen person, whilst Wade began to rock back and forth in his chair, and Bruce couldn’t help but to try and count to ten once more. It felt like one of those days in which he could easily make it to fifty, but Tony turned to him and snapped him out of his thoughts before he could.

 

“That was Pepper,” said Tony.

 

“What did she want?” Bruce asked. “Anything important?”

 

“Peter left the tower and his costume is missing.”

 

“You think he’s gone to look for Wade?”

 

“He said he knew where he lived.”

 

Bruce turned his back and tried to calm down. It was true that Peter claimed to know where his friend lived, but they had dismissed him and in their dismissal they had missed the chance to learn the address. There wasn’t any chance of Peter running into Wade, which – admittedly – was a vast relief, but there was no knowing what traps or dangers might be in place at the man’s private abode, especially so should he have any acquaintances there that might be willing to fight for him. Peter had been through so much already. They had to find him before he hurt himself.

 

“We need to find out where Wade lives,” said Bruce.

 

“I’m already on it,” replied Tony. “J.A.R.V.I.S. is running some data right now, which should hopefully give us a lead and help us beat Peter there, and – with some luck – we might even find May tied up in a basement somewhere. We can let her go and we can stop Peter from doing anything stupid. We leave Deadpool here and we let S.H.I.E.L.D. deal with him later. Problem solved.”

 

“Ha! You guys are funny!” Deadpool laughed and shook his head. “You know that cliff-hangers are _so_ less effective when your protagonist is immortal! The worst thing that will happen to me is that my bladder is burst! Seriously . . . I have to go!”

 

“Yeah, well you can hold it until your arrest.”

 

“My mutant power isn’t an iron bladder!”

 

“You’re not even a mutant!”

 

Deadpool appeared to pout. It was subtle, but enough that Bruce could see it through his mask and recognised it for what it was, and then – with a rather disconcerting slowness – that pout turned into a very dangerous smirk. He lowered his head and cocked it to one side, before he turned to look at where everyone stood and how far they were from his person. Bruce suspected that this would be the moment of an attack. He would try to fight his way out.

 

The surprise came when Deadpool didn’t fight. No, instead there was a ripping noise and his arms came from behind the chair to be thrust into the air, so that it looked rather like he was cheering for a moment. In his left hand there was a knife and a slash in his sleeve, whereas in his right hand there was a small device that looked something like an old-fashioned detonator, and Bruce was willing to hazard a guess that this was the same teleportation device that he had been warned about. Bruce felt his heartbeat begin to race at the idea this man could escape. He had guessed that Deadpool had been cutting himself loose, but not to escape like this.

 

“Mutant away!”

 

Deadpool clicked the device and disappeared. It actually was funny in a rather disturbing way, which forced Bruce to bite his lip to stop from smiling inappropriately at what was in reality not amusing at all. Natasha rolled her eyes and Clint swore under his breath, whilst Tony merely kicked the chair over and yet out a loud roar of anger, before he let out one simple cry:

 

“ _Damn it, Deadpool_!”

 

 


	19. Chapter 18

# Part Two: Chapter Eighteen

 

Spider-Man watched from the shadows.

 

The spot he had chosen proved to be a great vantage point. He crouched upon the table with his weight on the front of his feet, ready to spring away should the situation call for it, and he kept his arms between his legs with his fingertips lightly upon the surface for balance. There was a slight ache to his muscles from how long he had held the position, but he had found a sense of stillness and awareness that he had never before believed himself capable of achieving. He kept still.

 

It was difficult to say how long he had waited in the dark kitchen, simply waiting for the owner to return home, but time felt meaningless when he was left with nothing but grief and fear and confusion. He needed to know the truth! He needed to know whether his aunt was alive or dead, just as he needed to know why Wade would do something like this to him, and he needed a sense of closure that simply waiting in his room could never provide. He was _tired_ of not knowing how to feel. He was tried of playing his questions over and over in his head. Wade wanted to be a good man, one worthy of Peter’s love, and so what reason did he have to do this? Why?

 

_‘Money, money, money! Must be funny -’_

Spider-Man kept his eyes closed from behind his mask. He had broken in via the conservatory, which had surprisingly lax security considering that it belonged to one of the most deadly mercenaries in the world, and he had made sure he had left everything exactly as it had been before his break-in. It seemed that he had assumed rightly that Deadpool would enter through the front of the house, and – judging from the silence of the conservatory behind him – no one else had returned with the older man in order to pose a threat. It was just Deadpool and no one else.

 

_‘- in a rich man’s world!’_

He opened his eyes to see down the hallway through the kitchen door, where Deadpool appeared to be turning on the lights as he went, as well as throwing loose cash into the air and dancing in loose circles with an imaginary partner. It would have been endearing at any other time. He could see how Deadpool moved with such rhythm and confidence, as well as the smile through his mask at being able to act so freely and without judgement, and it was almost as if nothing were wrong at all.

 

Deadpool slammed a large wad of money onto a side-table in the hall. He then began to hop down the hall, as he tried to remove his boots whilst still walking forward, and then came his gloves that he struggled to remove in his convoluted method. Spider-Man wanted to sigh and shout out that trying to use his teeth to remove his gloves wouldn’t work, that he would have to remove his mask first, but it was both to his advantage to stay quiet and also rather amusing to watch. Deadpool finally managed to strip down to just his mask and his trousers by the time he reached the kitchen door, and – at that point – he seemed to realise he had an uninvited intruder.

 

Spider-Man barely had time to jump.

 

The gun was removed out of its holster at an incredibly fast speed, so that his spider-sense barely had time to even give him warning, and – once the rush of adrenalin wore off – he felt an intense sense of admiration at Deadpool’s skill. It all happened in barely the space of three seconds. He heard the gunshot just as he had leapt across the room to the kitchen-counter, at which point he finally registered the blur of light seared into his retinas and the bloody cut on his ankle. There was a hole in the table. It was clearly from the gunshot that had _just_ missed Peter and scratched him instead.

 

“Incy Wincy Spider climbed up the cabinet,” Deadpool sang.

 

“Well, you always did drive me up the wall,” Spider-Man spat back.

 

“Say, how about you hop on down? I really want to shoot you in the kneecap, but I’m worried that I might hit the cabinet. I just made a _crap-ton_ of cash, which I am _so_ not spending on home-repairs! Come on, forget my gun is a lethal weapon and let it give you a blast! It’s just like a water gun, but instead of water there’s these little bullets made of metal! It’s fun, I swear! _Bam, bam, bam_!”

 

Spider-Man felt his eye twitch in frustration. He would admit that his position on the wall was far from comfortable, especially considering that he had backed himself into a very awkward corner. His arms were spread wide, with each one on a cabinet door, whilst one leg was bent back to rest on the tiled wall and his other dangled to brace itself on the countertop. He was exposed. It would also be difficult to get away from any direct attack, because his only possible movements were into the French doors that linked into the conservatory or straight into Deadpool himself.

 

“You _do_ know that it’s me, right?”

 

“Oh yeah, I _know_.” Deadpool hit the light-switch. “I also know that a certain _someone_ thought it’d be a good idea to break into my home. Bet that was a right riot! Ha! ‘Let’s snoop through the crazy mercenary’s house, it’s not as though he had a right to privacy or to personal space’! Well, baby boy, no good deed goes unpunished! I’ll be nice though and let you pick: left kneecap or right kneecap?”

 

“You’re one to talk, Wade! I trusted you! I love you so damned much, but you couldn’t deal with that, could you? I don’t –! I _can’t_ believe that you killed my aunt just to teach me a lesson, but the alternative isn’t much better. You’ve put her somewhere just to kill someone in her place, just to make us _think_ she’s dead! Why?”

 

“You know what? I’ll think I’ll go for the right.”

 

“Wade, don’t you dare -!”

 

It was difficult to see through the light. He was still adjusting to the bright overhead lights that destroyed the darkness he had been hiding in, whilst blinking rapidly to destroy some of the pain and erase the spots seared onto his vision. The bright side was that he had learned two things from Wade over the years: _never_ doubt your senses and _never_ trust a madman. He had expected a very cold reaction based on Al’s warnings, just as he knew Wade well enough not to doubt his threats.

 

Spider-Man jumped to his left, which perhaps saved his leg from a rather debilitating and severe injury. Deadpool – just as expected – had aimed for the _left_ kneecap. It was infuriating to be shot at like a common criminal, even if a part of him felt relieved that Deadpool hadn’t aimed to kill, because it meant that the older man still felt _something_ for him, at least. The beating of his heart was almost a distraction, so loud that it almost deafened him to the sound of the gunshot itself, and he barely had time to register that he was about to his the large glass doors. He aimed his web-slingers and covered the frame. It blocked it just in time to save him.

 

“Dude, that stuff will take ages to get off!” Wade snapped.

 

“Huh? Do you think? I suppose that makes my job a little easier, then.”

 

He dropped to the floor and aimed at Deadpool. The webbed up door behind him and the two gunshot holes attested to this being a serious fight, and there was no way that he would be able to hold a conversation with Deadpool furious to this extent. _He needed answers_! He didn’t care that his friend didn’t like strangers in his house, just as he didn’t care that he had broken in and invaded his privacy, because Deadpool had _hurt_ him. Deadpool had played on his worst fears. He needed to know why!

 

There was a brief standoff in which Deadpool aimed his gun at Spider-Man’s arm, just as Spider-Man aimed his web-slingers at Deadpool’s wrist, and – just for a moment – he wondered whether the mercenary would be mature enough to put his weapon away. He felt nauseous and light-headed. He could also see the other man’s bare chest heave with his heavy panting; he could sense the sheer fury emanating from Deadpool almost palpably, so much so that he didn’t need his spider-sense to alert him to what was about to happen, and so he shot his weapon just a split second before the Deadpool could pull the trigger. It saved him from injury yet again.

 

The webbing struck Deadpool upon his right hand, which caused the gun to explode and send a bullet into the ceiling, whilst the weapon itself fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Spider-Man didn’t give Deadpool another chance. He aimed quickly and stuck both hands and feet to the wall behind him, which forced the assassin spread-eagled upon the wall and unable to break loose. It hadn’t been his intent to embarrass the older man this way, but he needed to immobilise him and to prevent him from further attacks. It didn’t matter what Deadpool wanted: there would be answers.

 

“Half-naked and tied up,” Deadpool observed. “You only had to ask!”

 

Spider-Man drew in a deep breath. This – this was ridiculous beyond all expectations! Deadpool knew what he had done to Peter . . . _he knew_ . . . he knew that the younger man would be reduced to tears, just as he knew that Peter’s worst fear was to lose someone else close to him, and he knew that Peter would be inconsolable and wonder exactly what he could have done. It didn’t _matter_ that May was okay. The fear was still there! He had been made to face the possibility, and Deadpool simply stood there and made jokes! It – it wasn’t right! It wasn’t right that he could hurt Peter this way!

 

“I – I thought we were friends!”

 

“Aw, we are, baby boy,” said Deadpool. “Why do you think I did this?”

 

“I – I don’t – I don’t know! I just know that you wouldn’t kill Aunt May! They keep telling me that you would, like you’re some sort of monster, but you’re _not_ a monster! You – you keep trying to get me to believe it, but I know that it’s not true! I trust you, even if you keep pushing me away, but -! _Damn it_! You can’t play with my emotions like this! You can’t -! You can’t make it seem like I – I’ve killed someone again!”

 

“Yeah, don’t _you_ get it? You can’t keep blaming yourself for shit that other people do! That Gwen chick didn’t die because of _you_! You’re young and you’re hurt and you got the world on those pretty shoulders of yours, but – _fuck_! I’m no good for you, Petey, and as long as I’m with you then you’ll only feel worse!”

 

“S-so what? You’re pushing me away so that I’ll leave you? This is for _my_ sake?”

 

“I can’t keep hurting you, if you leave me. Simple math!”

 

“You leave me and you _will_ hurt me.”

 

Spider-Man pulled off his mask. It felt heavy in his hands, so that it felt like a reminder of all the responsibility that he held, and suddenly the very thought of hiding behind a mask felt repulsive to him. He knew it was necessary when he fought for the city and protected its citizens, but this was different, especially when he and Deadpool had so much history and trust between them. If he wore the mask, he would only be distancing himself. He needed Deadpool to see the truth.

 

He threw the mask straight at Deadpool, so that it hit the other man in the face and fell to the floor with a soft sound. It was difficult to miss the anger that Deadpool exuded, especially when he slowly turned his head to look straight at Peter, as well as the way his muscles bulged to almost obscene proportions, and he wondered whether he had crossed a line in some way. Peter ran a hand through his messy hair and glared at Deadpool as he stepped closer, which went against every grain of self-preservation that he had. He knew it was dangerous to get close to Wade, but there was no way that he could avoid it. He needed to face him. He needed to stand by him as an equal.

 

“I bet the fan-girls are going mad right now,” Deadpool muttered.

 

“ _Stop it_ ,” snapped Peter. “You thought it was such a great idea to play with my greatest fears, didn’t you? Well, fine, you do that! You make it seem like my aunt has died, one of the _few_ people in this world that I have left, and you make me feel like _hell_ whilst I then hate myself for having thought for even a second that you could have done it! What? I either have to live with a dead aunt or a friend that betrayed me? I love you! I shouldn’t right now, but I do! Despite it all . . . I do.

 

“You know what, though? You keep playing with my fears like that and you just might bring _your_ fears to life. I _know_ what you’re scared of, Wade! You’re scared that I don’t really love you, that I’m using you, and that I’ll _leave_ you! Well, it’s impossible for me not to love you and I would never use you, but as for me leaving you . . . I don’t want to, but what choice would I have? If you keep playing me like this then I’d have no choice. I – I nearly hurt myself when I heard the news, because it was just too much to bear, and I can’t keep feeling that way! I’m not strong enough!”

 

“Ha! See, I knew that –”

 

“No! _No_! Don’t you dare, Wade! You don’t get to use this as a moment to say ‘I told you so’, especially when it’s _your_ fault that I’m pushed to the edge! I’m not going to leave you, not yet, even if I really ought to leave you . . . I get why you did this. It’s completely insane, but I get that you were scared and hurt and that you wanted to be sure of my feelings, but -! Never do this to me again. _Never_. I will stay by your side and support you through your issues, but _never_ hurt me like this just to _test_ me!”

 

“That was only part of why I did this,” mumbled Wade.

 

“Then what was the other reason?”

 

Peter began to pant for breath.

 

Did he even take in any air? It felt like he had just ranted without breath, so that now he felt dizzy and lost in the silence, and he took a step back and closed his eyes so as to centre himself as Bruce had once taught him. Wade was terrified of abandonment and rejection, so he had pushed and pushed at Peter to see whether he could be trusted and – if he couldn’t – to at least have things end on his own terms, and Peter would make an exception this once. It was right what Al had said to him: it would take time, even years, for Wade to get over his fears. Wade would need his support.

 

Peter stepped forward so that he was close enough to Wade to feel the warmth from his chest, and – with a shaking hand – he reached up to take a hold of the edges of the older man’s mask. There was a moment when Wade stopped breathing. It scared Peter to the point that he nearly stepped back, uncertain as to whether the man before him was preparing to bite him or cry due to him, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip nervously as he wondered what Wade felt: anger or fear.

 

He lifted the mask just enough to uncover his mouth, then stopped. There was no way that he would uncover Wade’s face without his permission, because – despite everything – there were some lines that couldn’t be crossed. This wasn’t just a fear, and it wasn’t just an invasion of privacy, but instead it was something much deeper that risked breaking Wade completely. There were times when Wade would be comfortable enough to show his face freely, but other times when it would cause him to weep or become outright homicidal, and this was such a sensitive situation and one in which they were both emotionally exposed. He decided to play it safe.

 

“Why did you do this, Wade?”

 

Wade laughed and he felt the breath against his lips. It was enough to make Peter blush, especially when he hadn’t meant to lean in that much, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. There was a part of him that wanted to kiss Wade, but he knew that the mercenary would never forgive him for that. Peter would still be a kid until the day that he turned eighteen, and until that day Wade would never allow himself to give in to any temptations. Peter pulled away.

 

“I’m sorry, but I just need to know _why_.”

 

“You know I wanted to push you away,” said Wade with a smirk. “I also got a _really_ interesting job offer, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone! This guy got wind of your identity, also got _really_ pissed as you killed his son, well – okay – he _thought_ that you killed his son. Jesus, last thing I want is you going all emo on me! Hell, even Toby Maguire couldn’t pull that shit off! You know, you do have more of an Andrew Garfield vibe, but that guy _so_ doesn’t have your beautiful baby blues!

 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! How would you rather he look? Shut up! Right, where was I? Okay, so _don’t_ think that he has a point, because you _so_ weren’t responsible for that Harry kid, but that whole Goblin plot was overly convoluted even in the original run, so what’s a mutant mercenary to do? He wanted me to take out May, because of revenge and stuff, so I told him that’d be totally fine! I was going to actually kill her, but then . . . I don’t know . . . _yeah_ , I wanted to push you away, but I didn’t want you to never forgive me, because you’re _you_ and I like you. It’s confusing, all right! Shut up! I tricked him. It’s all good!

 

“I had a word with your aunt and got her out of the house. Don’t worry, she’s all safe and stuff, but I _did_ kill that guy’s sister in your aunt’s house. I had to make it look like I _did_ kill her! Ugh, your dad was _super_ pissed! Bastard broke my nose! Luckily word got out to Norman I killed May before the Avengers found out I was innocent . . . not often I get to say that! Okay, I may _say_ I’m innocent a lot, but first time that I’ve been able to say it without lying! I escaped the Avengers, got my money from Norman, and then killed the bastard! Ha! Good luck revealing Spidey’s secret now!”

 

“W-wait! You –! You _killed_ Norman Osborn, too? _Seriously_ , Wade?”

 

“Hell yeah! Check the photos on my phone! It’s in my pocket!”

 

“You took a photo that can _prove_ you killed him?

 

“Yep! Right front pocket, have a look!”

 

Peter bit his lip nervously. He believed Wade’s story, but to believe that it had been Norman that had taken out the hit was hard to believe, as well as made worse by how he could now be dead at the hands of Wade. It took him a minute to gather his courage, but he eventually he took a step back and looked down to Wade’s pockets and pouches gathered around the waist of his trousers. It was hard not to notice the way that the healing factor was currently beating the cancer, so his skin was in good condition for once, and he also looked rather muscular –

 

“Check me out later, Petey! Right pocket to the right!”

 

He gave a sigh and nervously reached out to Wade’s front trouser pocket, where he made a point of looking off to his right at the kitchen cabinets, because – in all honesty – he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact at such a moment of time. This felt far too intimate, but he couldn’t let Wade loose in case he was lying or would try to get away, and so he drew in a deep breath and reached inside, where he rooted about. The pocket was deep and eventually he managed to find what must have been the phone, only – with some further groping and reaching – it felt far too long and narrow to be -. _Oh good God._

“No, my right! _My right_! Not my phone! _Not my phone_!”

 

“I-I-I-I’m so s-sorry! I’m sorry!”

 

Peter quickly let go and found the phone to Wade’s right. He removed it and quickly spun around, so that his back was now to Wade, and he let his head drop forward as his cheeks became flushed with mortification. It was hard to ignore Wade’s spluttering behind him and murmurings about how it wasn’t fair for him to tease like that, but he managed to type in the password ‘Spidey’ relatively easily and searched for the photos album. It only took a brief second.

 

“Okay, so what am I looking for here?” Peter began to flick through. “ _Chimichanga . . . Spider-Man . . . gun . . . screenshot of some porn . . . a puppy . . ._ wait -! This one looks like a –! Oh God –! Seriously, Wade? That’s disgusting! Why the _hell_ did you take a photo of your bowel movement? Actually, no, I don’t even want to know! Oh, _great_ , you spelled out ‘Logan’ with it. Lovely.”

 

“Hey, keep flicking through, will you? It’s there, I promise!”

 

“I can see a photo of your bare butt, which – as lovely as it is – really makes me wonder why you would even need that there. There are also dozens of photos of your dog and even more of pancakes. Then there’s – er – Norman’s head? You – you decapitated him and then _posed_ in a photo with him?”

 

“Oh, come on! You say that like you’ve never once decapitated a villain and taken a selfie with his head! Cable got so pissed at me for that once, but sometimes it’s pretty useful! I posted it on this social media site and it helped me to find the real guy! It was so cool! Okay, so you can see that right? Just don’t scroll on! I may have taken a picture of my dong at one point, but I can’t remember if I deleted it or not! Oh, you so have to see the photo I took of Iron Man flying into Stark Tower, too!”

 

Peter raised a hand to massage his temple. There was absolutely no excuse for killing anyone, whether they were innocent or a villain, but Wade – despite his vast improvements – was still somewhat amoral. He had yet to learn that murder was murder, regardless of whether the other person was immoral themselves or not, and so he drew in a deep breath and reminded himself to stay patient. Wade would learn in time, but – until then – he had good intentions.

  
He reached down to pick up the gun from the floor, before he placed both gun and phone onto the table behind him, and then debated whether to release Wade from his place stuck to the wall. There was a part of him that worried how Wade would react on being released, especially as he was the sort to try to get revenge for any perceived slight, but Wade was fond of him and he had treated Wade with relative respect in turn. It would hopefully be enough not to warrant any further fights. Peter gave a sigh and reached out to pull down Wade’s mask, although he let his fingers linger on the skin underneath, before he then moved to freeing him from the webbing.

 

“You – you were trying to protect me,” Peter said.

 

“Yeah, I’m such a hopeless romantic! I killed the guy that was going to out you and that would have killed your aunt, plus I managed to push you away from me too, which is good as I’d only have hurt you when you worked out what I was like! Seriously, you’re still just a kid. Tell you what, get back to me when you’re eighteen and if you’re still into me then we’ll talk! In the meantime . . . let a guy down?”

 

“What do you think I’m _trying_ to do? Look, Wade, if you want to be just friends for a while then I would like that. I’d do _anything_ not to lose you from my life. If you _promise_ me that you’ll reconsider when I’m eighteen, I’ll be content with that.”

 

“Yeah, well, you better put your mask back on then.”

 

“What? Why should I put my mask on?”

 

“Trust me and do it!”

 

It was at that moment Wade broke free from the webbing. He pushed Peter back and quickly shot down to pick up his mask, before he then – very awkwardly – shoved it onto Peter’s head and tried to pull it down. It was backwards. It was bunched up. The whole process was slightly painful and blinded him a little, and so he swatted Wade’s hands away and adjusted the mask himself, even if it temporarily blocked his sight and left him feeling a little annoyed. It was when he managed to get his mask on and see properly that he saw someone in the doorway:

 

“A-Aunt May!”

 

She looked perfectly healthy, with her short hair styled nicely and her clothes as smart as ever, and he felt such a huge sense of relief that he could barely take anything else in about her appearance. He had been right to believe in Wade. Peter had no idea what his aunt was doing here, or why she seemed so calm and content, but he had been so scared of losing her and to have her back in his life was such a huge relief! He felt complete again. He felt his body become weak.

 

He ran straight to her and hugged her tightly. The mask soon stuck to him with the tears that he hadn’t realised that he had shed, whilst she held him just as tightly as he held her, and – as he drew in a shuddering breath – he pulled back to look at her closely and to reach up to touch her cheek. May was alive! It was then that he remembered that he was Spider-Man and that she had no idea of his identity, which was likely why Wade had adamantly and suddenly tried to force his mask back upon him. It meant that Wade hadn’t betrayed his identity to May.

 

“I – I mean . . . Miss Parker, you –”

 

“Peter, I heard your whole conversation,” she said. “Your friend here is quite a remarkable young man, although he seems a little . . . _incapable_ of keeping a secret. Honestly, I think it was quite clear that he was your young friend Wade within ten minutes of meeting him, but don’t you worry! He didn’t reveal your _other_ identity. I’ve been suspicious for a while and he merely confirmed it unintentionally.”

 

“Aunt May . . . I – I know you must have a lot of questions, and – er – I’m sorry you had to listen to our conversation and find out . . . well . . . everything. I promise I’ll answer all your questions, but -! How did Wade convince you to leave the house?”

 

“Well, he certainly didn’t tell me about any murder, that was for sure!”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that!” Wade said.

 

It was admirable that he at least had the decency to look sheepish. Wade scratched at his neck nervously and then looked from one to the other, before he pulled at his mask – as if making sure that it was down enough to hide his face – and rolled back his shoulders. May spent the whole time glaring daggers at the mercenary with the mouth, but all Peter could think was about how lucky it was that Wade wasn’t scratching his privates or ranting with curses. He was being quite civil.

 

“I promise I’ll get it cleaned up,” Wade said.

 

“That isn’t the problem, Mr Wilson,” said May coldly.

 

“Hey, how else was I supposed to get you out of the house? Peter told me all about you, plus I spent _weeks_ watching you! It was a lot easier to tell you about the whole someone after Spider-Man by getting to you thing, but skipping all the blood and guts and gore and -! Hey, that wasn’t really a lie! More like a lie of omission _._ Omitting something isn’t a lie! What – er – are you doing up anyway?”

 

“Oh, there was absolutely no way that I could sleep knowing that Peter would be so upset, not least when he would scour the streets to look for me! I heard the gunshots and came down to listen a little. Can’t blame an old lady for eavesdropping!”

 

“You know if you had a gun and were a bit younger then you’d be scary!”

 

“I take that as a compliment!”

 

Peter gave an involuntary shudder. He hoped – should Wade ever actually give in and allow the two of them to have a relationship – that he would never have to be in a room with both May and Al, because he had a feeling that those two strong personalities would be extremely intimidating indeed. It was clear that May now _severely_ disapproved of Wade, which meant it would take a _lot_ of convincing to warm her up to his friend, and he only hoped the damage wasn’t permanent.

 

It was then that May walked over to the stove and picked up an old-fashioned kettle, one that would whistle to tell when it was ready to pour, and at once she began to prepare the water to boil. It reminded Peter far too much of Al. He sensed Wade try to sneak out of the room, but he was far too noisy and seemed to spend too long stumbling than moving, so that May cleared her throat loudly and shot him a dark look. Wade froze and looked to Peter. He shrugged back and pulled off his mask to free his face, as he tried not to blush at the sight of Wade’s bare chest.

 

“Come, let’s talk over a cup of tea,” she said.

 

“Er, maybe Wade and I should –”

 

“Not a suggestion, Peter!”

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 19

# Part Two: Chapter Nineteen

****

“Happy birthday, Petey!”

 

Peter smiled at the sight of Wade. The other man waved wildly from across the room, where he sat comfortably in an old office chair of Peter’s. It was actually a nice surprise to find Wade in his room, as he had half-expected that his friend would avoid him due to his father’s rule that forbade Wade from the tower, and – although it meant lying to his father – that had been the reason Peter had retired to his room so early.

 

He had hoped to don his costume and search for Wade, even if his party several floors below was still in full swing, because – in all honesty – a celebration without Wade felt hollow and meaningless. The thought of looking all over the city had been an exhausting one, and so it had been a huge relief to see Wade sitting so patiently in his room. He actually looked rather handsome, too. It was clear that his cancer was not so bad today, so that the scarring was minimal and looked almost as if he had strange stretch marks all over his flesh, and there was a brightness to his eyes that – much to Peter’s relief – showed that there was very little pain for once.

 

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Are those hotdogs for me?”

 

“The undigested ones are, for sure!”

 

Wade had filled his entire workspace with hotdogs, so that hardly an inch of his desk was visible underneath the absolutely inhuman amount of food, and he just _knew_ that it would take weeks to air out the smell, let alone to be able to explain it away. He knew that now he was eighteen that he could see Wade freely, but it still felt highly disrespectful to allow Wade into Stark Tower without his father’s approval. He respected Tony too much for that and this felt rather wrong.

 

It took Peter a minute to remember to close and lock his door, but – if he were to be honest with himself – he felt a little distracted by Wade’s presence. The Deadpool mask sat folded on the back of the office chair, but the man on the chair itself was rather exposed by his usual standards, so that Peter was left with a clear view of his face and expressions. He could see the beautiful and sincere smile, just as he could see the hands that played nervously with a badly wrapped gift, and he could even see the effort that Wade had put into his appearance. The black polo-neck jumper clung to him even more so than his uniform, which made Peter blush.

 

He tried his best to ignore how his feelings had not changed in the least over this past year, let alone how they had actually grown in strength, because they both remembered well the often spoken promise. Wade had promised to reconsider their relationship on Peter’s eighteenth birthday, and now that day was here . . . Peter was scared in case Wade would decide against a romantic relationship. He was scared, because he loved the older man more than he thought possible, and the very idea of losing him was more than he could bear. It was sentimental, but true.

 

“Wait, is that beer on the table?”

 

“This?” Wade gestured vaguely beside him. “It sure is, baby boy! Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as though I want a drunk spider flopping all over the place, but you only turn eighteen once! You’re legal now, so I thought we could share this together! It’ll be like one of those ‘firsts’ that people get all sentimental over, only this is way better than any of the stuff your pops probably has about! You’ll love it!”

 

“I’m sure I would,” said Peter tiredly. “It’d be nice to try . . . when I’m _twenty-one_. I don’t know if the drinking age back in Canada is lower, but it’d sure explain the brain damage better than the cancer ever could. Nice try though, Wade.”

 

“Aw, you wound me, Petey! Always with the Canadian insults!”

 

“You’re more of an insult to Canada than Canada is to you.”

 

“Aw, I always knew you loved me!”

 

Peter laughed loudly. The truth was that he still felt somewhat uncomfortable trading barbs in such a way, but Wade seemed to enjoy their bickering and thought of it as something of a bonding exercise. It was clear that Wade would gladly accept most insults without offence, but a relationship relied heavily on trust and acceptance, both of which were things that Wade had lacked throughout his entire life. Peter, as such, made it his personal mission to make his compliments outweigh any insults.

 

He grabbed a spare chair from across the room and pulled it beside Wade, where he suddenly felt rather self-conscious. It had been a surprise party, so he had been dressed rather casually and his hair had been mussed up, and it felt like every single person that he knew had been invited. The only person that _hadn’t_ been invited had been Wade. His parents had sensed that he felt down, even as he tried his best to smile through the party and pretend as if he were happy to be there, but all he wanted was to find Wade and spend the rest of the day with him. Peter smiled as he finally found himself exactly where he wanted to be: Wade’s side.

 

“Thank you for thinking about me,” said Peter.

 

“It’s nothing! I know that I’m constantly on that mind of yours,” replied Wade. “I dropped by the other night to see if you were up, but nope! You were sleeping away, only you were smiling so brightly! Ha, I always knew you dreamt about me!”

 

“I – I was smiling? I – er – probably was dreaming about you then, but . . . d-don’t just drop by like that! You could at least at least ring in advance or – or _something_! Oh God, I dread to think what you could have seen! Look, just – just don’t do that again in future, okay? A-anyway . . . I – er – wanted to say . . . y-you look nice . . . very handsome. I’m really glad you came, I was just about to come looking for you.”

 

“You should know that I’d never forget your birthday! I’m surprised to see that you framed that drawing I did years back, plus I so saw that plush-toy of me in your closet! I never would have thought that you’d look up to me so much! Hey, do you want all those hotdogs? I dibs the big one! Oh yeah . . . here you go!”

 

“Thank you, Wade. You got me a present?”

 

“ _Made_! I made you a present!

 

Wade threw it to Peter. They sat so close that their knees were almost touching, which was enough in itself to make Peter feel weak and light-headed. He wanted to reach out and touch Wade, to hold him close and beg him to finally give him an answer, but instead he settled for opening his gift. The wrapping paper had been taped up so much that it was virtually impossible to open, but eventually he managed to do the impossible . . . inside was a homemade plush-doll of Spider-Man.

 

It was badly sewn, with the black webbing pattern painted on with shaky lines, and the limbs were out of proportion with one another, too, and yet . . . it had been made by Wade. Peter rubbed at his eyes. He could feel the tears begin to well as he thought about how long it must have taken to make, as well as to wrap, and it reminded him of how Gwen would make her own gifts too, so that he felt a small spark of guilt as well as a swelling of love for the older man. This was perhaps the most touching gift that he had received, and already he could feel the tears began to fall. 

 

“Hey, why are you crying? It’s not that ugly, is –”

 

Peter jumped forward and threw his arms around Wade. The older man flinched just slightly, before he let his hands drop comfortably upon Peter’s back. It was a warm touch and made him feel safe in the other man’s hold, and – as he instinctively nuzzled against Wade’s neck – he felt the chair push back under the force of his body, and suddenly he found himself sitting in Wade’s lap. It should have been awkward. It should have been embarrassing, but he couldn’t help but hold tight to him.

 

“It’s the best gift I’ve been given.”

 

“You must have had some real shitty gifts.”

 

“Don’t, Wade,” said Peter. “Don’t joke, please. It must have taken you ages to cut the fabric and to sew it together, and I really appreciate that. It’s beautiful and shows that you were really thinking about me. Trust me, I _much_ prefer this to your offer of a spider-cave. Thank you. Thank you for the hotdogs, for the stuffed toy . . . for just being _you_. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather share my birthday.”

 

“I’d say that you’re welcome, but if you don’t get off my lap soon then Wade Junior will soon be entering his own spider-cave, which – fun as it sounds – might be better left until we’ve actually had at least a date or two, so –”

 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! Just give me a second!”

 

“Ha, you’re so adorable!”

 

Peter threw himself back into his chair. It was hard to hide his face when he was only a foot or so away from Wade, but he managed to bury himself into the stuffed toy and pretend that the world at large no longer existed. He heard Wade let out a piercingly loud laugh, followed by a hard pat of his shoulder, and when he looked up he could almost fool himself into believing that Wade was blushing as much as he blushed. Peter gave a weak smile and Wade broke the silence with an awkward:

 

“I thought you’d still be at your party.”

 

“So you broke into my room to create a shrine to hotdogs?” Peter shook his head. “No, I left to come and find you, like I said. I know it’s still early, but I just couldn’t wait any longer! I told my parents that I was grateful for the party, but I had to get some sleep as the _Bugle_ want me in early tomorrow . . . I’m not sure they brought it, to be honest, but I had to find you. Wade, I -! I need to know whether –”

 

“Yeah, yeah! I know you’re still into me, Petey; it’s all you’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! I want to give you an answer, I really do! It’s just you know that your family won’t be happy. Tony hates me. May hates me. You want to alienate them all? I can’t agree to something that you haven’t thought about!”

 

“I have thought about it! Aunt May will support us, even if she _does_ give you those same lectures and threats about treating me right, and my parents . . . well . . . I’m pretty sure they’ll support us, but we can wait until we’re serious to tell them.”

 

“You ever think that your aunt may have a point about me?”

 

“Ever think that I know you better than my family?”

 

Peter crossed his arms across his chest. It was difficult to look confident and mature, at least when Wade sat opposite him with legs spread and hands playing with a hotdog off to the side of him, and – as Peter strove to channel his mother’s demeanour and body language – he saw Wade smirk in amusement. It was frustrating, as if he were still being treated like a child, and so he kicked Wade in his leg to get his attention. It was difficult to hear the same argument time and time again.

 

The truth was that he was sure his mother would react more favourable to their relationship, especially when considering how responsible and chaste Wade had acted this past year, to the extent that he had probably shown far more respect for Peter than Peter had shown for himself. Wade refused to stay the night or to allow Peter to stay the night at his home, just as he refused to enter the younger boy’s bedroom until today to give him his necessary space, and he had toned down his flirting considerably and even the physical contact. Wade had been the perfect gentleman. There would be some concern, but they wouldn’t _hate_ him!

 

Okay, Tony would likely hate Wade, but Peter hoped only to tell his father once the relationship had progressed to a point where they were both serious, when they had dated for long enough to know that it was leading somewhere and that they wouldn’t break up. He also made a mental note to make sure that Bruce would be there to help mediate the whole thing, as well as to tell his mother and aunt far in advance, so – hopefully – he would have two extra people on his side. It would be okay. Peter was willing to do everything he needed to _make_ it okay.

 

“I’m serious about making this work,” said Peter.

 

“Yeah, well me too, Petey! It’s nice that you think you could love me,” said Wade, “especially when you know what I’m really like . . . I’m ugly, I’m weird and my brain is deformed or something . . . you want to alienate your family for that?”

 

“No, I’m willing to _temporarily_ alienate them for _you_. It’s true that my aunt will be super pissed, and my dad might outright forbid it, but _they_ aren’t the ones that have to live my life. I love you. I want to be with you. I’m going to make _my_ choice and be with the person that _I_ want to be with, and – if they love me – they’ll support me and let me do what feels right for me. If they did decide to disown me, I guess they never really loved me to begin with, but they’re not like that. They’re good people.

 

“You’re worth it, Wade, even if you don’t think so. We can just date on a trial period, if you’re worried. We’ll date for a while without telling anyone, and you can set whatever ground rules you want, and then – after a few months – we can start to come out to the people we trust most . . . we can come out to everyone whenever you feel ready to, once you know that I’m seriously committed to this and we can work well together. Just – just don’t give up on us, no before we’ve had a chance to even _try_ and see whether this can work! D-don’t feel pressured into saying yes though!”

 

“Dude, how can I _not_ feel pressured after a speech like that? Luckily for you, you’ve always been my hero and I love you to death, sweetums! I hate to break the magic, but someone here has to be the responsible one! Since when are we responsible? Shut up, I’m so responsible! I fed the dog today and everything!”

 

“Er, well done on that? Wade, I know you have concerns . . .”

 

“Damn straight! Okay, let me think!”

 

There was a pause, as Wade appeared to genuinely think. There was a squint to his eyes and a furrow to his brow, before he then began to swing quickly back and forth within his chair, followed by taking a hotdog and eating it with only a few bites. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, especially when Wade took a second one to eat in turn. He _needed_ an answer! He loved Wade, but Wade seemed to forget that they had already waited _years_ to reach this very point, and yet he kept Peter waiting nonetheless! It was a form of torture.

 

“Okay, I have some questions for you!”

 

Wade screwed up the hotdog papers into a ball and then shot it across the room, where it landed into the wastepaper basket with a solid splat. The older man cheered loudly and fisted the air with a wide grin. It was a relief to Peter to see him acting so naturally, because this was a side to him that only Peter saw, at least without his mask to hide behind. There were still times when he would act shy and insecure without his mask, but lately those times were less and less, and he more and more exposed his naked face before Peter with a smile. He appreciated it. 

 

“Sure, shoot away,” said Peter. “You can ask me anything.”

 

“Well, what happens if you want to get married? Oh, and what about kids? I love kids, but I’m sure as hell not cut out to be a father! You’re better off with that redhead, because I bet she can pop out some legitimate heirs, and I know you might just think of my daughter as some bastard child, but I like to check up on her from afar every now and again . . . don’t want it to be a problem . . .”

 

“Y-you’re thinking way too far ahead! We – we haven’t even _kissed_ and I haven’t even started college yet! It’s a bit too soon to be thinking about marriage and a family and all that kind of stuff! We need to make sure we’ll work as a couple first!”

 

“You want to be a grown-up? Got to think ahead! It’ll be important.”

 

“Are you scared of getting in deep only to break up?”

 

Peter reached out to touch Wade. It was only a brief second, but the other man used his feet to push his chair away quickly. The action was subtle by Wade’s standards, especially when he had been so jovial up until that moment, but there was a flash of sadness across his face and a sheen to his eyes. Peter bit his lip in guilt at having brought up such a sensitive point, but already Wade had reached for his mask and pulled it on with enviable skill. He could see the smile behind the mask.

 

No, he wasn’t going to let Wade think that breaking up was a possibility! Okay, it may have been, but there was also a good chance that they could become a good couple, and he wasn’t going to let Wade’s fears sabotage that before it had even started. He wanted to both reassure Wade and to prove he took this seriously. The future obviously meant a lot to the mercenary, or at least he needed to know that he wouldn’t be holding back Peter from _his_ future, and so – if he needed Peter to think ahead – he would think ahead. It was awkward and strange to think of children and weddings and domesticity, but he’d do it for Wade.

 

“Okay, well, if I have to think about it now . . .”

 

“You know, I always saw you as the family type,” said Deadpool. “They’re be a little girl named May or Petra, probably have your powers, and you’d adopt some kid named something like Miles . . . it’d be such a super family! It’d be cute, too!”

 

“I can still have that with _you_ , Wade. We can get married, if we want to, because I’m _pretty_ sure gay marriage has been legal in our state for a while now . . . push comes to shove, we could always get married in Canada. I – I don’t know about children, but I admit that a part of me does want that one day . . . if you don’t want children, that’s fine! I mean . . . I don’t know . . . we can discuss it way nearer the time, but I’m happy with a career and with you. I don’t need children to be happy . . .

 

“If you change your mind, we could still have children. I would love to adopt, especially as my parents adopted me after my biological parents went away, and I know just how much it means to a child to be given a home . . . it’s the greatest gift that you can give to a child. We could even use a surrogate, if you wanted to have a child that’s a little like one of us, I – I know some people don’t feel adoption is quite the right option for them, and it’s possible – scientifically – to have our own biological child. There have actually been cases with children with three biological parents, as one woman’s nucleus is removed to –. Sorry . . . science.”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve seen every episode of _Star Trek_!”

 

“I’ll keep it simple, just in case . . .”

 

Peter lowered his head a little to hide his smile. There was no denying that Wade was incredibly intelligent, but he never had the formal education that Peter had been fortunate enough to obtain, and – as such – technical terminology sometimes was lost on the older man in a way that it wouldn’t be on anyone else. He could see the slight frown on Wade’s face, but more because he found technical and specialised subjects to be something of a bore, and he likely hoped to avoid a lecture. Peter looked up and gently prodded his leg with his foot, just to get Wade’s attention.

 

“You prefer simple science, right?”

 

“Nope! I prefer _no_ science,” said Wade.

 

“Well, long story short, it’s theoretically possible for two men to have a biological child together, loosely based on the method I referenced in the case of the children with three biological parents. I’m pretty sure the technique has now been banned, although countries such as the United Kingdom are – sorry, I’m babbling again! Er, anyway, if we _wanted_ a biological child, it would be possible provided we had a surrogate and a viable egg. So we have a lot of options open to us.”

 

“If that’s been banned, it’d mean relying on your pops and the big guy! You know they’d never agree to anything that’d tie you to me! Not like anyone is going to approve of us . . . you think it’ll be easy coming out to your friends?”

 

“I think it will be easy. Ava and the gang absolutely love you. You know Sam’s already given you a catchphrase? Any time you whisk me away anywhere he says stuff like ‘you got pooled’! He thinks you’re – and I quote – ‘the best’. MJ likes you a lot too, although I think she worries that you’re a little older and used to be a mercenary, and I know that Gwen and Harry would have loved you, too.”

 

Peter swallowed awkwardly. He felt a stab of pain and guilt at the thought of his lost friends, especially when he had always envisioned them being in his life until the end of his days, and it hurt him to think that he could graduate and get married and finally be the ultimate Spider-Man . . . all without them by his side. The truth was that had he not met Wade so young then he may have gone on to live a different life entirely, but he couldn’t imagine living any other life. He loved Wade. There was nothing more than he wanted than to be with Wade.

 

“So . . . can we give us a go?”

 

There was a long pause, before Deadpool reached up to take off his mask. The older man looked almost angry for a moment, although there was a slight blush to his cheeks and a purse to his lips, and eventually he gave a sigh and shrugged. It was as if he didn’t know what to think or feel. He loved Peter and admired Peter, so that this was likely a dream come true for him, but – with that – there came the immense fear that he would mess up or somehow hurt Peter in some way or form.

 

“All right, Petey,” he muttered.

 

“R-really? You – you mean it? That’s great, I –”

 

“Ha! One condition! You have to best me in a hotdog eating competition! Okay so you totally have the advantage, ‘cause – you know – the fact that I’ve already eaten two dozen, but if you can turn your spider-sense off for long enough to eat them –”

 

“Wade, you’re on, but this _really_ doesn’t count as a date.”

 

“What about if we got burritos instead?”

 

“No, Wade.”

 

It took all of Peter’s courage to act. He quickly leaned forward, with one hand on Wade’s knee for support, and placed a rather chaste kiss on the other man’s lips. It was an awkward kiss; their lips lingered almost motionlessly, although he could feel how chapped and dry the other man’s were, and he could feel his heart beating so loud in his chest that he feared it would burst. He pulled back with a blush and sat nervously in his chair, where he began to fidget with his hands and then said:

 

“This incentive enough for a real date?”

 

“I don’t know. One more try?”

 

Peter smiled brightly.

 

“Sure.”

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 20

# Part Two: Chapter Twenty

****

“Peter! It’s so good to see you!”

 

Peter found himself pulled into a full hug. It was a rather firm embrace, which ended with a few hard pats upon his back, and when Tony pulled away he kept both hands locked around Peter’s upper arms. There was nothing wrong with those kinds of displays of affection, but – for a split second – he wondered whether his father had taken to drinking again. It was a thought that sent a sharp pang of guilt through his entire frame. He couldn’t believe that he had doubted his father’s sobriety.

 

The fact was that there was no smell of alcohol on his father’s breath, just as he was standing with perfect balance, and his eyes were clear and focussed. He was definitely sober. Peter bit his lip nervously and cast his eyes briefly to the elevator beside him, where Wade stood awkwardly on his own, and he noted how his boyfriend’s head was so far down that he couldn’t see his face properly. It had been hard to convince Wade to come without his mask, but he had and Peter had been so relieved. The only problem was it felt like this – this sudden affection – was just a display from Tony to say in a rather primitive way ‘this is _my_ son’. He was effectively marking his territory.

 

“You’ve been working way too much,” said Tony.

 

“Well, I’m here now,” replied Peter. “Thank you for letting Wade come, too, I really wanted to talk to you all about something, but I wanted Wade with me when I did. I’m sorry I haven’t come home sooner, but I’ve been so swamped at work!”

 

“That’s no excuse, Peter! You’re _supposed_ to be at college! How can you _possibly_ keep up with a full-time job _and_ a full-time course? We can’t _all_ be billionaire, playboy philanthropists! Look, just focus on your college and quit the job at the _Bugle_. Is that why you came here? You don’t need moral support for that! I can have some extra money transferred into your account by tonight!”

 

“ _No_! I promised to pay you back every last dime for my tuition and I will! I _don’t_ want you paying the rent on my apartment and it’s not _right_ to make you pay for my education. I know you love me, but I don’t want to take advantage of your wealth and I want to feel like I’ve _earned_ everything I have. Let me do this?”

 

“You must have got your work-ethic from your mother. At _least_ let me pay the rent!”    

 

_‘Tony, don’t be such a bad influence!’_

Peter sagged in relief as his mother appeared. It felt like that she was often the only person alive that could get through to Tony and provide him with a voice of reason, and – immediately on hearing her voice – his father had left go of Peter and took a step back, so that he _finally_ felt a sense of space and an ability to breathe. He wondered what Wade felt about his rather over-protective and spoiling father, but it was impossible to tell for as long as his boyfriend hid into himself.

 

It was then that Pepper quickly dashed down the corridor, although she ran in bare feet and dried her hands on a dishcloth on the way. She had worn her hair down and was dressed in smart-casual attire, which made sense when – unlike Tony or Bruce – she knew exactly why her son had brought his friend with him, and the look she shot to Wade was one of both amusement and wary suspicion. It was as if she _wanted_ to like him, but her maternal urge was too high and she worried about how the older man was taking care of her son. A few moments later and she came up to Peter to give him a hug and a kiss, before she turned to Wade and did the same thing.

 

The embrace she gave Wade was awkward. The ex-mercenary wore an incredibly baggy hooded-top, along with an oversized baseball cap, and his hands never left his pockets and his head never looked up. Peter could see the tension run through Wade’s body at the hug and kiss to his cheek, and his mother apparently sensed this too and kindly stepped away to give him some space. She then looked to Tony and gave him a look that spoke of sheer exasperation. He merely lifted his hands up in a mock surrender and in turn she rolled her eyes with a sigh.

 

“You should admire your son’s work ethic,” she said.

 

“I do,” answered Tony. “I just don’t see why I can’t help my son! I spent my whole life working and researching and inventing, and I’ve worked hard enough that I _can_ pay for my son to live comfortably and happily. My father was a distant, cold man. I don’t want to be him. I’m not just throwing money at Peter to get rid of him; I’m just trying to _help_ him. Why can’t I make things easier for him?”

 

“We’ll talk about this _later_. It’s not right to talk about this in front of Peter’s friend, no matter what you might think about him. _Anyway_ , dinner is nearly ready. Bruce and I have been working all afternoon so _you_ can have something nice to eat, so why don’t we all head to the kitchen and talk about something else.”

 

“Fine, fine! You can’t distract me with food, though!”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes and walked away. There was just a brief wave to Peter, but he ignored Wade entirely as he headed towards the kitchen. It hurt Peter to know that his father wouldn’t even _acknowledge_ his boyfriend, which made him worry about how he would react when he realised that Wade actually _was_ his boyfriend, and he couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful to have his mother on his side. He watched as his mother followed Tony with a heavy sigh of frustration.

 

It was only when they were out of sight that Peter turned to Wade, before he quickly placed a hand on the other man’s cheek and let his fingers slip underneath the hood, and – as Wade looked up in surprise – Peter pressed a kiss to his lips. It was passionate, but fleeting. He moved his lips against his boyfriend’s several times, before letting his tongue briefly come out to taste Wade, and then pulled away with a brief peck to the other’s nose. It was hard not to blush, but Wade only smiled hungrily and amusedly at Peter in turn, which only served to embarrass Peter more. He quickly looked down the corridor to make sure no one had seen them.

 

“Sorry about that,” whispered Peter.

 

“It’s fine,” Wade replied.

 

There was a slightly awkward pause between them. It was clear that Wade was uncomfortable and slightly insecure, but it wasn’t as though he could whisk his boyfriend away or shower him with kisses considering where they currently stood. He instead reached down to take a hold of Wade’s hand and squeezed it tightly, before he began a slow walk down the corridor and led his boyfriend by his hand. It was then that Wade slipped his fingers between Peter’s and suddenly everything felt _right_. Peter turned and gave Wade a bright smile, before he gently let go and nodded to the kitchen just to the side of them. He led the way inside.

 

Bruce stood over by the stove. He appeared to be stirring a pot and pretty absorbed in his task, whilst Pepper stood next to him and spoke softly to him, but – ignoring the conversation at hand – Tony appeared to sulk over by a far wall. It was difficult to ignore that his father was hurt by his refusal to take his money, but luckily Bruce chose that moment to notice Peter and came running over to him. He stood only a few feet from Peter and Wade, but smiled brightly and sincerely.

 

“Peter! How are you?”

 

“I’m really good, thank you,” said Peter. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for a few weeks, but it’s just been so hectic at work and at college . . . even my friends haven’t seen much of me, so I promised them that we’d do a weekend away this summer. Sam insists he’s found some real classy beach somewhere, which should be fun. I was planning on spending the rest of the summer break here with Wade, if Dad says it’s okay, so let’s just hope you guys won’t get sick of us!”

 

“You know that we would never get sick of you,” replied Bruce. “I actually planned to take an extended trip to India, but – now I know you’ll be here – I’ll reschedule. I could actually really use your thoughts on something I’m working on. Anyway, that can wait until later. Is this Wade? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wade.”

 

“Er, nice to meet you, too.”

 

Bruce reached out to shake Wade’s hand. It was hard to miss the slight flinch to his boyfriend’s shoulders, but it seemed that Wade found the confidence that he usually only associated with the mask. Wade took his hand out of his pocket and wiped it on his jeans; he then shook his sleeve down to cover almost all of the flesh and shook Bruce’s hand with a strong grip. It was a relief to see Bruce smile, especially so when he clapped his other hand other their shaking hands with a friendly hold.

 

“Peter’s told us all about you.”

 

“He has?” Wade asked. “Hope it wasn’t too bad.”

 

“No, not at all! It was positive, actually. It’s a relief to know that Peter has a friend that he can depend upon, even after all that unpleasantness from before. I – I know it’s not easy to turn over a new leaf . . . it’s one of the hardest things a person can do. If you’re anything like me, you probably live in fear of messing up or going back to the thing you were before, but . . . I have faith in you. _Peter_ has faith in you.”

 

“That’s kind of you,” mumbled Wade.

 

“You also don’t need to feel shy,” said Bruce. “Say, why don’t you help Pepper and me to set the table? If you want to be a part of the family, the best way of doing on that is by waiting on Peter and Tony hand and foot.”

 

 _‘Hey!_ ’ Tony shouted.

 

Bruce winked playfully. It was incredibly embarrassing, especially when Tony began to rant that the _real_ work had been creating the tower to begin with, and even worse when he could see the smirk on Wade’s face that said he understood where Bruce was coming from. Okay, so the fact was that maybe he and his father were a little spoiled, but _only_ because they were so focussed on their work and absorbed in their tasks. It wasn’t as though Peter ever _expected_ things to be done for him.

 

“Come on,” said Bruce. “I love your sweater, by the way.”

 

“Thanks, designed it myself.”

 

The smile on Wade’s face was genuine. It was something that Peter had noted a few times, that – when without his mask – any compliments about his appearance meant the absolute world to Wade. He would finally feel validated and accepted, which would always make him smile and laugh and act normally, but – likewise – any insults would result in his either hiding his tears behind his mark or brutally harming the person that insulted him. Peter was so grateful that Bruce had been so kind.

 

Peter wondered if Bruce knew just how much that one compliment had meant to Wade, even as he sat down and watched the three of them preparing the plates and making small talk with one another. Wade laughed at some jokes his mother told, and Bruce asked him about his work helping with other superhero teams. It was nice. He blushed a little and hid his gaze when his father sat down opposite him at the dining table, as he hoped that he hadn’t been caught watching Wade with such deep interest, but then Pepper and Wade took a seat by their respective partners and Bruce sat between them. It seemed dinner would be a few more minutes.

 

“So you wanted to talk to us?” Tony asked.

 

“Er, yeah,” said Peter. “It’s actually part of the reason why I wanted Wade to be here with me, because he – he identifies the same way and knows how I feel . . . I – I know that Mom already knows, b-but . . . well . . . I wanted to tell you that I’m – well – bisexual. I – I know it may be a bit of a shock, so I’m really sorry! I – I just – it’s -! I can’t change how I feel. I like both men and women.”

 

“You’ve only just turned nineteen, Peter,” replied Tony. “Are you sure that you’re bisexual? I never really pictured you as a Tommy Two-Ways. Still, I guess it makes sense. Have you spoken to Bruce yet? It’d help to ask someone that gets it.”

 

“That’d be great,” Bruce said, “if I were bisexual, myself.”

 

“You’re not gay? Not even a little?”

 

There was a heavy sigh from Bruce. The slight tensing of his muscles was hard to miss, especially when his smile suddenly became slightly forced, and it seemed that he was caught between humouring Tony and outright chastising him. Wade laughed a little and hid his mouth behind his hand, whilst his mother shook her head and distracted herself by bringing over the dishes of food. Bruce closed his eyes. There was a long moment of silence, before he opened his eyes and looked across to Tony.

 

“Tony, I’m straight,” Bruce said. “Even if I were gay, being ‘a little gay’ is not the same as being bisexual. There is a very large difference between bisexual and homosexual, and it doesn’t help Peter when you conflate the two.”

 

“Well, you would know all about that, I’m sure.”

 

“‘ _The lady doth protest too much’_.”

 

Peter dropped his head onto the table. This was far too embarrassing, especially when he was trying to lead in to introducing Wade as his boyfriend, and – frankly – it was made even worse by Wade’s laughing and facial gesturing. He was glad that his boyfriend found this amusing, but he had hoped for a _much_ better introduction between the two most important sets of people in his life. Wade nudged him under the table and then hooked his leg around Peter’s . . . it was oddly comforting.

 

It was then that Pepper finished putting the dishes around the table, at which point everyone began to help themselves and load their plates, but – before she took her seat – she made it a point to slap Tony on the outside of his head. He looked at her indignantly, before she widened her eyes to signify her anger and nodded to Peter, who tried to sink further into the table. Bruce merely coughed politely and reached out with his spoon to hit Peter on his head, at which point he sat up properly and let Bruce load his plate with various vegetables and meats. It was hard to look at the food and not feel slightly nauseous. He was too nervous to eat.

 

“Oh come on,” said Tony, “everyone experiments.”

 

“This isn’t a phase,” said Pepper. “Peter is bisexual.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not denying _that_ , I’m just more surprised that Bruce _isn’t_. I mean, come on! You had, like, one girlfriend and now spend your life all celibate . . . you just have that kind of vibe. The whole big, green, ‘bear’ thing. It’d make sense. You know, even in this kind of form . . . you still seem like a bear sort. You look like that actor, too, played a gay guy in that TV special about gay sex or something?”

 

“Who are you trying to convince: me or you?” Bruce asked. “If this is some sort of come-on, you probably ought to wait until Pepper is out of earshot. You’ll get better results when flirting when your partner isn’t close by.”

 

“Aw, you mean I have a shot? I’ll so be stopping by your room later.”

 

“Seriously, don’t blame me if you end up on the couch.”

 

“We can share. What are mistresses for, sweetie?”

 

Peter groaned loudly. It was hard to ignore Wade’s outright laughter, which he no longer tried to disguise, whilst Bruce glared daggers at Tony over the table. This was probably _the_ most humiliating experience of his life, especially when he had hoped to make a brilliant impression upon his new boyfriend, and eventually it seemed that his mother must have kicked Tony under the table, because suddenly he seemed to behave himself. He heard his father mutter an apology under his breath.

 

“Is that all you wanted to tell us?” Tony asked.

 

“Er, well, actually there is something else,” confessed Peter.

 

“Well, don’t worry about being bisexual. I never thought that I would even _have_ a child, so – when you were left in our care – it was all a bit of a shock, but I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world. You’re my son. There isn’t anything that you could do or say that would turn me against you, so feel free to talk to us about anything, you hear? You’re a Stark in all but name.”

 

“T-that’s good to know,” said Peter. “It’s actually the other reason why I wanted Wade to be here with me, because . . . we’ve been dating since my eighteenth. It’s been just over a year and we’re serious, so we – we thought you should know.”

 

“You’ve been dating Wade? _Wade Wilson_?”

 

“Y-yeah, I hope it’s not a –”

 

Tony pushed himself to his feet. The look of sheer fury in his expression made Peter shiver, whilst Wade angled his chair subtly so as to allow him to jump freely should the need arise. The tension was thick and heavy, so that Peter felt afraid to speak in case he somehow made the situation worse, and – as he looked to his father – he could see the older man’s knuckles turn white under the pressure of the fists he made. It was a look that Peter rarely saw . . . even when Tony had been furious with Steve, they never came to blows . . . Tony rarely had that look of vengeance in his eyes.

 

It was then that Tony dove across the table, even as Pepper screamed out his name and Peter jumped back in his chair. It was surreal to see Bruce carry on eating, almost as if nothing were happening out of the norm, whilst Wade jumped to his feet and placed his hand onto the holster of his concealed gun with a tense grip. The only thing that stopped Tony from attacking Wade was his mother’s strong grip on him.

 

“Tony, don’t you dare!”

 

Pepper managed to pulled Tony away, even as he clawed out to try and punch his son’s boyfriend, and – meanwhile – Bruce stood to help hold Tony back, apparently unable to ignore the behaviour for much longer. It took a long while for things to settle, especially considering how livid his father was, but eventually Tony pushed away both Pepper and Bruce, before he began to pace back and forth. He was angry, but that only served to scare Peter. He had never seen his father this angry before.

 

“That slime-ball is dating _our_ son,” Tony screamed.

 

“Tony, you _have_ to calm down,” said Pepper. “Peter has come out to you, because he _trusts_ you. He’s telling you about his relationship with Wade, because he _trusts_ you. If you freak out now, you’ll only alienate him. Peter needs to know that he can trust us with the little things, else how else will he be able to confide in us with the big things? You need to _listen_ to Peter.”

 

“Wait . . . you consider this a ‘little’ thing? Our son is dating an insane mercenary, one that killed an old woman and made us think it was May, and not to mention he’s at least twenty years older than Peter! You think this is something _little_?”

 

“Actually, yes,” Bruce interrupted. “Pepper has a point.”

 

They stood in silence for a brief moment. The only sound that Peter could hear was the sound of his heart beating loud within his ears and his heavy panting breath, but luckily his father seemed to sense his fear and discomfort. Tony drew in a slow breath and sat down at the table again. It took a few more seconds for Pepper and Bruce to do the same, almost as if they didn’t trust Tony not to lash out again, and – finally – Wade sat down in turn. Bruce broke the silence.

 

“Peter’s a good kid,” said Bruce.

 

“I’m not denying that,” snapped Tony.

 

“Then you have to trust him. Peter has never done anything to give you doubt. Peter has never done drugs, just as he’s never been out drinking or intentionally hurt people, and he’s never come home to say that he’s gotten a girl pregnant or been in trouble with the police or ever once let his grades slip. He’s been the perfect son to you. Do you think that he would honestly date someone that would be a threat to him?”

 

“I love Peter, but he’s hardly the world’s ambassador for good self-esteem! The kid is _still_ in therapy over Gwen and Harry, so . . . yeah . . . I think he just might fall for a guy that hurts him. You can’t see him internalising it? You can’t see him saying ‘I deserve this’? Wade hardly has the best track-record for good behaviour!”

 

“What are you accusing me of, Stark?” Wade snapped. “Tell me to my face.”

 

“Fine. I think you’re bad for Peter and I don’t trust you not to hurt him.”

 

“Fuck you, Stark. You don’t know me!”

 

Wade leaned on the back legs of his chair and put his feet on the edge of the table, which was enough to gain a wince from Pepper. He kept his hand on his gun, whilst his other hand was curled into a strange ball shape, and it was obvious to Peter that – what he tried to pass off as a fist – was a move for his concealed blade. The fact was that he likely wouldn’t try to start a fight, but he _would_ use any means to defend himself and Peter should he see a potential threat.

 

The table was set beautifully and the food was great, but now no one dared to take a single bite and everyone looked so despondent. It had been strange to think that his bisexuality could have received such acceptance, but his relationship with Wade could be taken with such downright fury, and he dreaded the thought of spending all of his future birthdays and Christmases split between Wade and his family. He hated that this felt like an ultimatum: his boyfriend or his family. Wade eventually dropped his chair back to all four legs and began to play with his food, and Bruce made a polite show of trying to eat. Tony was flushed red and his eyes held a dangerous glare.

 

“So you’ve never hurt Peter?” Tony asked.

 

“No, I never would, either!” Wade downed his water. “You think what you want about me, but _I’m_ the one that refused to date him until he turned eighteen. _I’m_ the one that insisted we wait before we get more serious. _I’m_ the one that insisted he tell you about us in person. I couldn’t care less how Peter treats me . . . hell, if he leaves me or cheats on me, I can’t say I won’t deserve it . . . but I would never abuse him!

 

“Okay, _maybe_ I’d get in a few punches in costume, but _only_ if he got in my way on a job and _only_ to get him to back off, but that’s work! _Yeah, like a job risk!_ You’re thinking of it like the ‘superhero code’? The point is that I would rather be sliced in half at the waist, then drop onto some dude’s head, and have to then _crawl_ to my legs to put myself back together, rather than hurt Petey! Hell, I have you know that your son pissed me off a year ago . . . I was so mature that went away for a while, then came back all calm! See, I can be mature! I never hurt him!”

 

“He’s just nineteen! He’s trying to hold down a job and a college education, whereas _you_ -! Did you even _graduate_ from high school? Did you ever even _have_ a job that you weren’t fired from? What the _hell_ do you have in common with Peter? I don’t really see you discussing the latest scientific developments somehow.”

 

“That didn’t sound the least bit snobbish at all,” muttered Bruce.

 

“You tell him, Hulky!”

 

There was a slight flinch on Bruce’s face. The older man gave a weak smile and shook his head in a very slight way, almost as if trying to dispel an invisible touch or shake away a bad thought, but then he reached down and began to eat slowly. It was an incredibly slow and purposeful manner of eating, so that it became almost strange to watch, but eventually he looked up to Wade and gave an awkward smile. He nodded in acknowledgement to Wade and then spoke very softly.

 

“What do you guys talk about?” Bruce asked.

 

“Lots of things!” Wade answered. “We both lost people close to us, plus we both have bitching old ladies in our life, so there’s a starting point! I like listening to Peter talk about science too, even if my mind wanders and I get bored, because he gets all passionate and cute and happy! He listens to my stories, too. I even got him watching _The Golden Girls_ the other day, plus he has some _really_ cool books to borrow!”

 

“So you guys have a lot in common? That’s nice, isn’t it, Tony? Peter is a good man; I know this will never become an issue, but I feel like I ought to say that Peter has no right to hurt _you_ either, Wade. Treat each other well and with respect, because you _both_ deserve to be happy. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Wait,” said Tony, “you think they _should_ be together?”

 

“Why shouldn’t they?”

 

Tony threw his hands in the air with exaggerated defeat. He then made a large display of gesturing to Peter and then to Wade, as if trying to draw some sort of comparison, before he gripped his hair and then struck the table. It was an interesting pantomime, but not so much when Peter knew that his father was _moments_ from exploding into a rage. He remembered coming home to drunken parties that Rhodey and Pepper would have to break up, or even just the sulking and pouting. It had been years since his father had been so bad, but a part of Peter feared a relapse. Tony then spoke coldly:

 

“It’s great that he’s not hurting Peter, but . . .”

 

“What?” Pepper asked. “What is the big ‘but’ here?”

 

“Well, _maybe_ they have some things in common, but Peter is still far younger than Wade and – you have to admit – a lot more attractive. If you were like Wade and then some hot guy came onto you, what would you do? He’s clearly just using him.”

 

“Your baby boy is still a virgin, Stark,” snapped Wade. “I won’t lie, because we’ve not exactly been abstinent, but we haven’t gone all the way either. You think I’d use him like that? Hell, I like sex as much as the next guy, plus I _know_ that I’m no looker, but I’m not _that_ desperate to rush sex ahead just to get my kicks! Petey is a great guy; he’s smart and cute and has an ass you could bounce a quarter off, so I _know_ he could get any guy he wants! I’m not going to do anything with him until I _know_ that he wouldn’t grow to regret it! I want it all to be perfect.

 

“Oh, but because you think I’m such a dick, I might as well act like a dick! So, let me give you a few home truths, Stark! If I _wanted_ to screw your precious Peter, I could damn well do it at _any_ damn time! He’s been up for it for _months_ , but _I’m_ the one that said we should wait, _so fuck you, Stark_! You know what else? If you knew what we _had_ done, you’d be just as pissed as if we _had_ gone all the way! Oh yeah, I’ve had my tongue in places that you wouldn’t even –”

 

“Wade, no!” Peter shouted. “S-s-stop it, please! You’ve made your point!”

 

“You _stupid_ , son of a bitch!” Tony screamed.

 

This time Bruce jumped to his feet before Tony did, not even giving him a moment extra to see whether he _could_ control himself, and – immediately – he wrestled Tony to stay in his seat and began to whisper insistent treaties to stay calm. Pepper stood next to her partner and begged him to stay calm, whilst Peter glared daggers at Wade and tried his best to get the ex-mercenary to behave. Wade bit his lip and then gave a snort of derision, but otherwise stayed put with folded arms and a pout.

 

Peter felt the heat rise to his face so much that he wondered if he would faint, because this was a level of humiliation unbearable to him. It was bad enough that his father had picked fights and insulted his boyfriend, worse that his boyfriend would fire back with private information on their sexual activities, and suddenly he wondered whether he had made a mistake on introducing them to each other. He wondered whether he would ever be able to face his parents ever again, especially now the atmosphere between them was so tense and awkward. It had to get better, but what if it didn’t? He looked at Tony, who had – luckily – finally settled down. The look his father gave him was so angry that it made his eyes water. He lowered his gaze.

 

It was official that dinner was over. Peter himself pushed his plate away, whilst Bruce began to remove the table contents. He seemed to busy himself with wrapping the many leftovers, perhaps to fry them for a quick meal later as he had done in the past when he babysat Peter, and the dishes he put away to be washed. Bruce was a man that liked to distract himself, especially when angry, and Peter couldn’t blame him in the least, because – if he could – he would have ran out of the tower and hid away until this all blew over. It was too much to deal with at that moment.

 

“Oh God,” said Peter. “I’m going to die of mortification.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” admitted Pepper. “Look, _everyone_ , we all need to calm down and _think_ before we speak. It’s pretty obvious that Wade has been treating Peter with respect, just as it’s clear that you love Peter very much, Tony, but fighting is only going to make matters so much worse. You _both_ want what’s best for Peter, yes? If that’s the case, you need to stop hurting one another. It only hurts Peter.”

 

“Sorry, Miss Potts,” muttered Wade. “I didn’t mean to ruin your meal. It’s just your husband’s such a dick that he’s probably got basketballs for balls, and I’m not going to take anyone slandering my good name! I’ll be good now, I promise.”

 

“Peter,” Tony snapped, “you’re seriously dating this man?”

 

“Why shouldn’t he?”

 

Peter looked up at his father. Tony made to answer, but he stopped himself and then turned to look at his son curiously. It was difficult to say what he saw in his son’s expression, or even whether he realised something that he had been blind to all this time, but suddenly his anger fell from his face and he appeared to blanch a little. There was a sense of sadness and regret there, as well as infinite love for the boy that he had raised into the man before him. Tony sighed and shook his head.

 

It was then that Bruce turned around by the counter at which he stood, and then gave a heavy sigh of his own. He wiped his hands on a nearby tea towel and looked to Pepper and Tony, although a small smile broke on his lips when he saw what Peter had saw, which was Tony’s look of regret and love for his family. It was a relief to know that Bruce saw it too, because it meant that Peter hadn’t imagined it in his need to end the conflict and bring everyone together. It meant that there was hope for them and he was infinitely grateful for that. Peter smiled and listened as Bruce spoke.

 

“Why don’t we take a break?” Bruce asked.

 

“Y-yeah,” said Peter, “I really want to go home right now.”

 

“Well, before you do, I want to say something to your father. Tony, I know why you’d be upset, but think of it this way . . . it’s true that Peter could do better, but he could also do a _lot_ worse. He’s found someone that respects him and loves him, and – even if you don’t approve – Wade makes him happy. You would deny him that happiness just because _you_ disapprove? If Pepper listened to all of your naysayers, you two wouldn’t be together right now. Remember that.”

 

“I’m going to need time to think about this,” said Tony. “Look, why don’t you stay the night, Peter. Your . . . _boyfriend_. . . can stay in the guest-bedroom, then tomorrow we can all sit down and talk about this. I – I love you, Peter, but I always wanted to see you with someone so much _better_ than Wade. You deserve the perfect person.”

 

“Yeah, well,” mumbled Peter, “Wade _is_ the perfect person to me.”

 

“Well, you’re the perfect son to me.”

 

They sat so awkwardly in silence that Wade’s laughter came as something as a shock, but it was what they needed to smile themselves. It meant the world to know what his father loved him, but he didn’t _want_ better than Wade . . . he just wanted _Wade_. It seemed that his father realised this at some level, because – when he looked across at Peter – he wore a bright half-smile of his own, and it warmed Peter’s heart to know that his father still cared. He smiled back at him.

 

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” said Tony.

 

“I need to know I have your support, Dad. I need you guys.”

 

“Okay. _Okay_. Give me the night to process this, alright?” Tony sighed. “I just need to get my head around this . . . _don’t_ expect me to apologise, but – maybe – we can give this whole thing a fresh start and redo the introduction thing. No promises.”

 

“Thanks, Dad. Er, if you’re okay with me and Wade, can we –”

 

“No sharing a room! This is hard enough as it is.”

 

“ _That’s what he said_ ,” joked Wade.

 

Tony stood to his feet rather abruptly. This time he didn’t move to punch or hurt Wade in the least, but he did draw in a deep breath and cast his eyes to his partner and friend, as if they could give him the emotional strength he needed to remain calm. It was then that Tony gave a weak smile and took a step back, where he then rubbed at the corner of his eyes in frustration. It was a vast improvement to earlier.

 

“I think I really need to lie down now,” said Tony.

 

“Aw, want me to join you?” Wade asked.

 

“ _Go to hell, Wilson._ ”

 

 


	22. Epilogue

# Epilogue

****

“Hey,” said Peter.

 

Wade rolled onto his side. The look he gave Peter was difficult to judge, because – as much as he had _tried_ to break the ex-mercenary of his habit – Wade rarely ever removed his mask when he thought that he was home alone. He would still shower in his mask, eat with his mask partially covering his face, and even sleep with his mask despite how suffocating it could become. Wade was – _by far_ – his own worst critic.

 

There were times when Peter wondered what his boyfriend saw when he looked in a mirror, but he knew that whatever he saw would be too unbearable for anyone else to endure, because what he saw was something monstrous. It never seemed to matter how often Peter would whisper into his ear that he was beyond beautiful, just as it never mattered how Peter would always smile on seeing the other man, and it never mattered that Peter refused to make love from behind, because he wanted to _see_ his lover completely and utterly. Wade still held that dark insecurity.

 

“Petey! You’re back early!”

 

“Classes were cancelled,” said Peter. “Too much snow.”

 

“Aw, so you came back to see little old me? I’m so glad, baby boy! I’ve been going insane in this apartment all alone! No work for weeks, but – every time I ring someone for a job – people keep saying that they don’t _need_ the back up or extra ammo or the explosions! It sucks, right? I nearly blew my head off, but I know how sad that makes you! You’ve come to keep me company?”

 

“Yeah, although you need to tell me when you feel so down! I told you: don’t feel that you have to keep secrets from me! If you’re bored, my mother is looking to get some information on a competitor . . . you could help with that? It’d pay well.”

 

“Special, secret, spying mission? I’ll do it for free!”

 

“Good, she’ll be glad to hear it,” laughed Peter.

 

He closed the bedroom door softly. It made him smile that Wade had cocooned himself in their blankets and sheets, because it showed that his boyfriend was finally comfortable sharing their space and living together. It had been _eight months_ before Wade would sleep over on a regular basis, despite his name being on the rent and splitting the costs, and another _three months_ before he felt comfortable enough moving items and rearranging furniture. It was _their_ home and – finally – Wade was beginning to see that. It was finally a real home.

 

Peter stripped out of his clothing, although he made a show of taking his time to fold each and every item carefully, all the while knowing that Wade would be watching him intently through his mask. It always made him feel so self-conscious to be watched by Wade, even as he felt a sense of pride that the other man could still so deeply appreciate him after all this time. He wondered what Wade had planned for his twenty-first birthday, but a part of him hoped that it would be simply this.

 

It was cold in just his boxer-briefs, so he made it his mission to slide in beside Wade as quickly as possible. Their bedroom was small, but comfortable, and attached to the wall – opposite the bed – was a large television that Wade had insisted on, mainly for days when he lacked work and Peter was busy, so he could watch his marathons. It seemed that his boyfriend had chosen to watch some cooking show, which suggested that he had fallen asleep at some point or quickly changed the channel to hide something that would make Peter uncomfortable, and that in itself made him blush. It was obvious that Wade could read his mind . . . or at least his face.

 

“Dude, I don’t need porn when I have you!”

 

“You forget that I’ve seen your browsing history, Wade?”

 

He slid in beside Wade. The bed was warm and inviting, especially on such a cold day, and there was just something so perfect about curling next to his boyfriend to watch the snowfall outside. It made him smile when Wade adjusted his body so that Peter could wrap his arms tightly around his waist, and – as he pulled the ex-mercenary against him – Peter nuzzled against the side of his neck and breathed in deep a scent that could only ever be Wade.

 

“You’re gone for so long! A man has needs!”

 

“You can be gone for _weeks_ at a time,” muttered Peter. “I don’t watch it.”

 

“You so should! You know I _so_ found a really creepy one where these two guys dressed up as you and me, but – like – not _actually_ you and me . . . it was actually Deadpool and Spidey! Only there was some girl dressed as Rogue and we – _they_ –! Oh, hey, are you blushing? You’re so blushing! When you blush you hold me tighter and try to hide your face against my neck, which is weird when I can’t –”

 

“W-Wade, please stop! It’s too embarrassing to talk about those things.”

 

“You’d rather do those things instead? Well, sans Rogue!”

 

“I’d rather just talk for the moment, love.”

 

It was then that Wade moved his hand down to hold onto Peter’s, whilst his other fell beside his head in a rather awkward manner, and it felt nice as their fingers interlocked and their bodies moulded against one another. The older man had gone to bed in just his boxers and an old vest, which meant that there was plenty of skin to make contact with, and Peter felt certain that he would take advantage of that fact later that evening. In the meantime, he smiled and enjoyed the intimacy.

 

The covers had fallen about their waists, so that their legs were warm and tangled with both the sheets and each other, and the only light came from the glow of the flickering television screen. Wade had left the curtains mostly closed, as well as the bedroom window only being a few feet from the building opposite, and – as such – the room felt even more safe and enclosed. The snow had piled up beautifully on the window ledge outside, so that it felt almost like a Christmas scene, even though it was still so early in the year, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at how perfect it all felt. He wanted to roll Wade over and make love to him, maybe spend the whole week just lying in bed, but he really did need to talk to his boyfriend. There was so much to say.

 

“You want to talk?” Wade asked.

 

“It’s nothing bad,” said Peter. “I know that you were worried about your healing factor, because it gives you such an insanely lengthened lifespan, but I’ve been talking to Bruce and – well – it’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

 

“P-Petey! You can’t break up with us over that! You . . . what -? No. _No_! Shut up, that isn’t even funny! I . . . okay, that _is_ pretty funny.” Deadpool laughed at seemingly nothing. “Hey, stop distracting me! Stupid box! Look, if you’re worried about me watching you get old, I’ll be happy just so long as you are, Petey! I’d rather spend seven-hundred-and-twenty years without you, than the full eight-hundred!”

 

“That’s . . . an oddly specific amount. Wade, I’m not going to –”

 

“I swear! I can be whatever you want me to be!”

 

“Wade, just – just listen to me!”

 

Peter pulled away just slightly. It was necessary in order to roll Wade onto his back, so that he could straddle the older man and hold his face within his hands. He wanted Wade to look at him, but to _really_ look at him, because – even if he couldn’t see those beautiful brown eyes – he needed to know that they were looking back at Peter and could see just how sincere his words were meant. He smiled warmly and leaned down to place a kiss lightly on the other man’s masked lips, before leaning back.

 

“Bruce thinks he might be able to –”

 

“To what? To get rid of my healing factor? You want me –”

 

“Wade, just _listen_! Bruce and I have been working on various cures for some of the more extreme side effects that the mutant community suffer from, or at least ways of helping them to contain or control their powers, which we’ve been in close communication with the X-Men over. We think – _only_ think – that we could theoretically extract your healing factor and using it to enhance _my_ healing abilities, and it would be _totally_ painless and _only_ used in conjunction with my powers.

 

“I know it’s way too early to think about children,” said Peter, “but my powers are ingrained into my cells . . . into my DNA . . . it means that, if we enhance my power to be as strong as yours, the change would be fundamental. We believe – long story short – that, if you and I were to use my sperm at all, that any child of ours would likely inherit some – if not all – of my powers . . . it means that they might inherit your healing factor, too. I’m not sure whether that’s something we would want or not, but it’s a factor to consider. I just – I just don’t ever want to lose you! I don’t want for you to lose _me_ either! This – this could make sure our future is secured.”

 

“You thought of a future with me? Aw, that’s sweet, Petey! I got to say . . . you left me a little speechless, here! You know how hard that is to do, right? I mean, what do I say to that? I could ask you how you _know_ it’s painless, because I would rather lose you than _ever_ see you lose your mind to that kind of torture, but then I know Bruce would never hurt you, and then I suppose I ought to say -! Wait. You serious?”

 

“I’m serious, Wade,” Peter laughed. “I wanted your opinion first.”

 

“Before you go and do anything?”

 

“Before I do anything.”

 

Wade reached up to scratch at his head. It was a long moment that passed, enough that it made Peter worry that he had perhaps suggested something that went against every fibre of his boyfriend’s being, that it may even be that Wade struggled to cope with the option put in front of them. Peter allowed his hands to slide down from Wade’s face with a loud sigh, before he let them rest upon the other’s shoulders and gripped tightly. It was as much for his reassurance as it was for Wade’s.

 

It was then that Wade gripped at his mask, before he slowly pulled it off with a smile that was both full of sincere relief and absolute concern. The mixture of emotions was strange indeed, but the happiness that Wade felt was undeniable, especially when Peter caught sight of the slight shimmer of tears on the other’s face. They simply looked into each other’s eyes. Peter smiled in turn, relieved to see the love there clear as day in Wade’s eyes, and he let his hands play in loose circles on the shoulders and chest below him. It was not as though he had doubted Wade, but there had been no knowing how he would react to such a proposition. He was glad it went well.

 

They remained silent for some time. It was then that Wade reached up to wrap his hand around the back of Peter’s head, so that he could feel the ex-mercenary’s fingers entangled in his hair and massaging his scalp, and – as he keened and moved into the touch – Wade brought his head down so that their foreheads were pressed together. He could feel Wade’s breath against his lips, as well as see fully into those expressive brown eyes, and – when he licked his lips – he tasted the spice that lingered on Wade’s lips. The older man spoke so softly, with such hope, he was barely audible.

 

“We could be together forever?”

 

Peter couldn’t stand it any longer. He pressed his lips to Wade and gave him a deep and loving kiss, one that spoke of everything that their relationship meant to him, and in return Wade kissed him back. There wasn’t a rush of lust or a battle for dominance, but yet the passion was there and as strong as it had ever been, and somehow the kiss meant all the more for that gentleness. He felt Wade’s tongue move against his, as well as the other’s hands roaming over his back. Peter pulled away to speak gently:

 

“Near enough,” he said. “You aren’t immortal, just . . .”

 

“Just as close to it as a human can get?” Wade gave a snort. “It’s a big commitment, baby boy. You really want to spend dozens of lifetimes with me? No. If you still feel the same way in a few years time, we’ll talk about it. You’re still young.”

 

“I’m _twenty_ and I know what I want. _Luckily_ for you, Bruce felt the exact same way that you feel. He says that he wants to wait until I turn at least twenty-five, for you to fully agree, and for me to have discussions with the likes of Logan and Steve before I even consider it. I’ve made time to talk to both of them next week, but – if nothing changes in the meantime – I think it’s an option.”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely an option, Petey.”

 

“So we can talk about it?”

 

Wade pulled him down to kiss him once more. This time there was something more than just an expression of love, as he could feel the lust rolling from Wade in waves, and Wade’s hand around his waist – pulling their lower halves together – was testament to that fact. They kissed for so long that Peter lost time, so that when he looked up to the clock it seemed that over an hour had passed and an erection had been gained. Peter smiled down at Wade and swore to miss classes more often.

 

“Together forever,” Wade whispered.

 

“Together forever,” said Peter.

 


End file.
